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fukingsad · 1 year

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You’re My Home

Ao’nung x Fem!reader

Mainly fluff 🤷🏾‍♀️❤️

Being the eldest child of Toruk Makto means you’re expected to be the example but what will you do when nothing can fill the hole you have within you after leaving your home…? But maybe home isn’t a place.. maybe it’s a person 🤧🤭

𓇽𓇽𓇽𓇽𓇽𓇽𓇽𓇽𓇽𓇽𓇽𓇽𓇽𓇽𓇽

‘I want to go home’. It was all you could ever think of anymore. Did you show those feelings? No. Why? you were the oldest you had to be composed and give your younger siblings a good example of how to act. But no matter how much you learned, how many friends you made, how much you tried to forget your mind always ended up back to the beautiful bioluminescent forest you had called home for 16 years. Plus having an asshole always reminding you why you didn’t fit in at your new home made it so much worse. You can’t sleep. Every time you closed your eyes all you could see was home. Your real home back in the forest. It’s not even morning yet but you can’t just lay here in silence anymore.

You carefully get out of your family’s Marui pod making sure not to wake anyone. Especially tuk if you woke her up it’d be a bad day for everyone. She is a very cranky child.

Did you miss home? Of course, you did, why wouldn’t you? At home, you had a title you were the eldest daughter of Toruk Makto you were an extraordinary warrior and healer you had a future promised to you. But here you were nothing but a freak whose family is hiding away from who they once were.

This is all you could think of as you walk the shore of the deep blue ocean lit up by the beautiful sea creatures living in the water that surrounds your new home. New Home, you hated those words they seemed bitter and every time they were said this new home became more of a reality.

Walking along the shore was peaceful. It gave you a place to think. It gave you a place to feel. You knew as soon as the day began you’d have to pretend that you didn’t miss home your friends your grandmother your sense of self or any form of normality. You felt somewhat content walking until you hear a very familiar annoying voice.

“Oh look the four-fingered freak what are you doing out here already not like you can do much without me to watch you”. Aonung you swear he has no life he couldn’t he cares too much about you and your family to possibly have one.

“As entertaining as it is to argue with you it’s too late for this and I can’t deal with you right now so please just go away”. You said the displeasure of his company showed in not only your tone and face but your body language as you plopped on the cool sand.

One thing Aonung is not is someone to back down even with OBVIOUS social cues to do so. “Well I’m not sure why your acting like this no one told you to leave the little forest and creep into my home, not like any of us want you freaks here anyways,” He told you looking down at you.

His words circulated your head. As if you wanted to leave your home. You wanted to fight for your home but you couldn’t do it now you’re stuck here. How could he think you wanted to leave? You thought to yourself. Standing up quickly which caused the boy to stumble slightly your clenched fist pinned to your side.

“YOU THINK I WANTED TO LEAVE! Why does your dumbass think I wanted to leave, that any of my family would want to leave! oh, how fun it sounds to come to a COMPLETELY different way of life and have to COMPLETELY relearn how to live! it was either we come here or we not only put our family in danger but our people and I know how much you hate my family and me being here but we don’t wanna be here either!”

Tears threatened to fall but you wouldn’t let yourself cry in front of him or at least you didn’t want to. He just stood there and stared at you if you hadn't known better you would’ve thought he cared for you.

You quickly sat on the sand clutching your knees to your chest clinging to yourself. “Do you think I find it fun to have to act like being here doesn't bother me? I’m the oldest I have to show my siblings that all of this is ok But it’s not, none of it is how could it be?”You asked looking at the boy with big doe eyes full of pain and anger. You place your head down and begin to sob “I just wanna go home I’m tired of being here this place isn’t home I wanna go home I just want to go home”. You said to yourself quietly sobbing. As much as you hated crying in front of others you just couldn’t hold it together anymore it was too much.

Aonung stood there awkwardly, surprised that he made you cry, not even cry practically break down completely. The way you looked at him. It pained him to see you so upset. He just couldn't understand why.

You hear movement assuming Aonung left out of awkwardness. That is until you feel arms wrap around you. You lift your head quickly and push the fish boy away standing up after. You look at each other shocked

“What the hell was that huh?” you asked him slightly flustered but mainly confused.

“One ouch Two have you never heard of a hug before it’s something people do to comfort others duh three you just... you seemed like you needed a hug you know?” He spits the last part out awkwardly.

Your face deadpans at the boy's lack of social skills. “Why would I want a hug from someone who for starters isn't my friend and is the reason I'm crying in the first place? It makes no sense for you to hug me.” You said matter of factly. Silence overcame you as you thought for a second before saying “But thank you I suppose that was kind of you” You once again sit down facing the ocean the moon's bright light reflecting off the water.

Aonung moves to sit to the side of you just staring at your features as the moon's light begins to shine on them. If we're being honest here Aonung feels bad still seeing the tears on your face. He wasn’t used to this he was used to you arguing back or yelling and pushing him to go away. The way you never backed down amused him. He found you interesting he felt a need to break your confident shell, and now that he did he regretted ever wanting to do so. “Look i- I’m sorry for what I did it was uncalled for truly,” the boy said head turned slightly flustered.

You turned your head around quickly your legs sprawling out. “Okay, why are you being so nice?” you ask raising an eyebrow at him. “DID YOU PUT SOMETHING ON ME?!” you reach your arms around to feel for something on your back frantically only for Aonung to grab your arms carefully pulling them toward himself. He let out a (very sexy) light chuckle before saying “As funny as that would be forest girl, no I didn’t put anything on you and I’m being nice because I get where you're coming from…kinda?”

You pulled your arms away from the boy. “How could you ever understand how I feel? You didn't have to pack up your life and leave your home. You didn't have to run away from who you are,” You told him pulling your legs back into you.

Aonung turns his head away from you staring off into the night sky the stars as bright as ever. “I might not understand that way but I understand what it’s like to always be under pressure you know being the oldest and all,” he says sincerely. Out of the sincerity in his soft words, you turn your head to look at him as his light-colored skin seems to shine with the night. ‘When did he get so fine?’ you quickly shook the Thought to continue listening to his words.

“Look y/n, to be honest, I don't care that you're here it's just…” he paused taking a deep breath and continuing. “The fact that I had to teach you and knowing that you all were running away from war was both irritating and scary. Being the oldest means I'm going to be the next olo’eyktan and I not only have lots of training and responsibilities I also have to care for my people. And having to take care of you all adding to my long list of responsibilities and worrying that the war you're all running from might come to my home annoyed me and angered me it… It scared me. And being mean to you all was just my sad attempt to not only run you all away but gain some power back the power that was taken away from me from forcefully becoming your teacher and no longer knowing that my people are completely safe.”

You looked at Aonung shocked. He sounded so mature. So caring. He sounded like less of an asshole and more like a true olo’eyktan someone that deeply cared for his people. It was comforting to know he wasn't as shallow as you thought. That there was more to him than just what you saw. Kinda like Home how even though the forest looks scary it's beautiful and simply misunderstood. Just like Home. Just like Aonung

“Hey, monkey girl you ok? Why you looking at me like that?” he said waving a hand in front of your face. You shook your head realizing you had been staring. “Yea I'm fine it’s just you sounded mature like a true chief and less like a bratty kid,” you said pushing him slightly and chuckling as you did so.

“Y’know you aren't so bad when you're being nice you should do it more often,” you told him “ya think so?” “yea I do” “Well even though you’re from the forest you are quite civilized and easy to talk to” you pause before joking “After all that progress” you giggle smiling at his joke “hey old habits die-hard y’know” He pauses.

“We should be friends,” He says after standing up and holding out a hand. “hmm I don’t know” you stay seated thinking of an answer. Aonung retracts his hand slowly letting it fall limp to his side. He squats down in front of you looking into your bright yellowish amber eyes with his light blue ones. “look I know we had a bad start but I do wanna be friends with you because you don’t seem all that bad and you are easy to talk to I feel oddly comfortable with you plus you’re not scared to put me in my place none of your family is in fact but you especially… so please at least gimme a chance to prove I’m not all bad.” he said standing straight reaching his arm out to you again.

You think for a moment. Were you gonna take the hand of the boy whose only mission since you and your family emerged here has been to run you all off? The boy who makes fun of your family. The boy who not only UNFAIRLY fought your brothers but ALSO almost got one killed. The boy who did all these things yet he gave you a familiar feeling. The feeling you haven't felt since the move. The feeling of home.

“Welp Im not leaving any time soon so might as well,” you say taking his hand. His hand is much bigger than yours given the metkayina’s adaptations to the water his hand completely engulfing yours. He lets out a laugh still holding your hand.

“Hey since we’re friends now you wanna go somewhere cool?” he asks excitedly. You pause for a second “I mean I’d love to but I don’t wanna get stranded in the middle of the ocean to be killed so I don’t know” you tease him. Aonung rubs the back of his next embarrassed “Yea sorry again for that but I promise on eywa I won’t and if I do may eywa bring my spirit to her immediately” he says seriously.

“Well with a promise like that, I guess I have to trust you plus I’m not going to sleep anytime soon might as well” you shrug. The two of you call your ilu’s over. Before we head underwater Aonung pipes up “Hey just make sure to keep up with me don’t wanna break my promise I’m too handsome to die tonight” he teased “Yea definitely too handsome” you roll your eyes.

With that, you and your ilu start to dive underwater making sure to splash Aonung as you do. Aonung quickly dives and races in front of you causing you to lose some balance but it is quickly regained.

You trail slightly behind Aonung as he leads you to this mysterious place. He stops abruptly and signs to go to the surface. “what’s wrong?” you ask “you need to take a really deep breath we’ll be underwater for a while and I would love it if you didn’t drown before we reached our Destination”. You roll your eyes at his playfulness.

As you go to take a breath Aonung comes beside you and places a hand on your lower stomach and chest. “Breathe from your stomach deep slows breaths you need to slow your heart rate if you don’t wanna die”.

You pray to eywa that he didn’t notice the spike in your heartbeat when he put his hands on you. But the light smirk ghosting his face says he did. “ now one last breath ok?” You take a deep breath and you both dive under.

Aonung was right when he said you’d be underwater for a while, it feels like you’ve been under for 5 minutes already. finally, there’s an opening and you both swim up.

after wiping off your face your eyes adjust. “Ok hold my hand and close your eyes no peaking” you grab his hand and think this is the same boy who insulted you every chance he got. Aonung leads you a few steps before letting your hand go “ok now open your eyes” You open your eyes and you are left speechless. A beautiful cave, with bioluminescent plants and creatures scattered across. It reminds you of the nights at home

Aonung nervous by your lack of words asks “So do ya like it?” you turn to him “I love it.” He laughs “I’m glad, I haven’t been here in a while it’s pretty cool right?” “It reminds me of the forest back home, so yea definitely cool,” You say eyes wandering taking in every part as if it’s not only the first but last time you’ll see this amazing place.

“Well, I’m glad you like it because this is officially our spot,” He says chest puffed out smirking. You said an eyebrow and smirk back “Our spot huh?” The boy nods his head. “I kinda like the sound of that,” you say laying down and becoming one with this moment of peace this feeling of home. You feel warmth beside you as Aonung began to lay next to you and everything feels content at this moment. Everything is in place. It feels like home.

🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮

Since that night the days have gone by fast all fading into one but you're not complaining. That beautiful cave truly was Aonung and yours. Only for the two of you. How easily you both could talk there. Words seemed to pour out of both of you as if they were crawling to be listened to by the other

Your urge to go home lessened did you still miss home yes of course but being here wasn't so bad. Maybe you've finally started to accept Awa'atlu as your home. Or maybe it wasn't Awa’atlu that you were accepting maybe it was…Him

Just like every other night, you ended up back at the beautiful cave. No matter how many times you’ve been there it never seemed to lose its hold on you. You didn’t expect aonung to be here tonight he seemed… distant? no busy? Nah maybe distracted? Either way, you both hadn’t hung out at the cave in around seven moons but you can’t be mad at him he’s the future olo’eyktan so he won’t ALWAYS be able to go off in the night.

Plus you had other friends to hang out with so when aonung was busy you’d hang out with them.

Yet there he was sitting there like always it seemed like he was waiting for you. It felt as if no matter what got in your way anymore you’d always find him waiting for you to come back to him and vice versa.

“I didn’t know you were gonna be here why didn’t you tell me?” you asked playfully walking over to the boy. “Didn’t think you’d wanna come” he said standing up and shrugging. What had you done? I mean he’s the one that hasn’t been hanging out with you, yet your not mad so, why is he?

He starts to walk away from you. You quickly grab his hand “hey what's wrong you know you can't talk to me? We can always talk here.” “It's nothing” he replied harshly ripping his hand away from yours “well if it's affecting you like this it must be something”.

“It's just so stupid it doesn't even matter”He said plotting down on the cool cave ground.“Well it obviously matters to you so it matters to me”

“Do you still wanna go home?”

Your whole body froze. Why would he ask that? He always made sure not to bring it up he knew it was a sensitive topic yet he asked so bluntly. You’ve thought of home a lot but since you and aonung have gotten so close home seemed close not the faraway forest. Home felt

“ I don’t know why do you ask?” you said gently, squatting down on the ground.

“It’s just” he started sitting beside you. “I think about it a lot like what would happen if you could go home, would you? and if you did what would I do without you?” He turned towards you.

“You act like you haven’t been without me before it’s not like you’ll be alone if I left” “Yea I won’t be alone but I won’t have you what’s the point of anything if I can’t go back to you?” he said becoming aggravated. what does he mean what’s the point?

“Aonung what are you saying”. Aonung stood up abruptly “I’m saying I see you y/n and now that I do I can’t imagine seeing anyone else the way I see you but I can’t help but think one day you’ll go home and I’ll be alone and I won’t be able to see you ever again” he went quiet.

You didn’t know what to say. Would you go home? Would you really just leave him? What would YOU do without him? He was your best friend the best friend that you’ve grown to love and that you’ve grown to see in one way and another. That’s when you knew exactly what to say.

You cupped his face softly. “I see you aonung deep down I always have and I won't leave you I promise I won't and if I ever had the opportunity to go home it would lead me back to you. Do you wanna know why?”

Still shocked by your words he mutters out a soft “why?” “Because” You pull him into a kiss the salt water present however oddly sweet. You feel his hands wrap around your waist pulling you in keeping the kiss. You pull away slowly still cupping his face

“You’re My Home”

a/n:i hate this might delete it later 🤪🤞🏾 but i had to get it finished so i could finish the others anyways i take constructive criticism and feedback jus don’t be too mean 🤭😻

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katyswrites · 2 years

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'tis the damn season

PART 1 | SERIES

Pairing: Steve Harrington/fem!reader

Warnings: Swearing, alcohol use, smoking, angst

Wordcount: 4.7k

Childhood friends-to-lovers-to-strangers-to-lovers again, broken promises, and roads not taken, lots of angst, soft smut, illicit affairs, what-ifs, and it’s always been you. And it all leads to your hometown, during Christmas break.

PART 1 | you, in my hometown

THEN, Autumn 1973

You were five years old, the very first time you laid eyes on Steve Harrington. It was the first day of kindergarten, 1973, Hawkins Elementary. You had just moved to town from Indianapolis, your parents deciding a small-town suburb was a better place to raise a family, just the place for you. You knew nobody, and sat in the corner, tugging nervously on the new plaid dress your mother had dressed you in, feeling more out-of-place than you ever had in your short life.

It was at recess, that the boy had approached you in the sandbox, plopping himself down on the edge. You were alone, most kids opting to climb the playground or start a game of tag, but you were more than happy to build something in the sand. You looked up at him, squinting in the bright light of the early September afternoon. There he was, messy hair sticking in every direction, brown eyes quizzical, curious.

“Hi,” he said plainly.

“Hi,” you replied, confused and slightly perturbed that this boy dared to interrupt your precious sandbox time.

“What’re you doing over here?” he asked.

“Why d’you want to know?” you shot back.

The boy shrugged, kicking at the sand with his feet. “You seemed lonely.”

You really looked at him then, properly, cocking your head. “I do?”

“Well, you’ve been by yourself all day.”

He had said it so matter-of-fact, as if it’s something that hadn’t been obvious to you.

“I don’t know anybody,” you replied.

“Well, it’s gonna stay that way if you don’t try to make friends.”

You looked down at your dirty hands, the muck of the sand covering your once-clean dress hem and crossed legs, suddenly feeling a bit foolish.

“I mean, I guess so,” you conceded.

He shifted then, sitting right in front of you in the sand.

“I’m Steve. Steve Harrington.”

You stare at him a moment, his face expectant, hopeful. When you tell him your name, he grins, and extends a hand.

“Nice to meet ya - wanna be friends?”

You look at him, then down at his hand, confused.

“My parents say shaking hands is the polite thing to do, when meeting someone new.”

Still unsure of what he meant, having never encountered this in your short life, you held out your hand to mimic him. He reached out and took it, shaking it firmly. You held on longer than you should’ve, only letting go by following his cue.

He smiled at you again, toothy and warm, then pointed at the sandcastle you were in the middle of building.

“What’re you making?”

You glanced over behind him, where the other kids were running, climbing, playing.

“Aren’t you going to play with your friends?”

“We’re friends now, remember?” he said, shrugging. “I can play with them another day.”

He says it so simply, as if it would be silly to consider anything else. Then, he sat with you for all of recess, chatting and asking questions about what you’re doing, where you’re from, and for the first time, you think Hawkins might not be so bad.

THEN, Summer 1975

“But mom -” you whined. “Just another five minutes -”

You hung your head out the window of the treehouse, your mother waiting down below, a hand on her popped hip. She sighed.

“Sweetie, I gave you another ‘five minutes’ twenty minutes ago. Steve’s mom is here to get him, and we’re about to sit down for dinner.”

You groaned, and withdrew from the window, flopping onto the wooden floor. Steve faced you, legs crossed and face solemn.

“I guess I’ve gotta go, huh?”

You nodded, sighing.

“It’s my stupid mom - I don’t see why you can’t just sleepover again!”

“I know!” he exclaimed, resting his chin in his hands. “I like staying here way better than my house.”

You frowned at that. “What do you mean? You’ve got a pool, Steve. And your house is so much bigger -”

“Yeah, but - ya know, your mom makes an awesome dinner… your dad talks about basketball with me… and, we get to just hang out all day!”

You blushed a little, but buried your head in your knees so he didn’t see.

“I mean, I guess you should go. Your parents might get mad.”

He sighed, but then grinned. “I mean, I’ll see you tomorrow though, right?”

Of course you would - you two saw each other nearly everyday. You nodded furiously. “Yeah, definitely.”

Then he descended the ladder, and leapt to the ground. Before he ran off to his mom’s car running in the driveway, he turned, and looked up at where you were leaning out of the treehouse’s window. He waved up at you, beaming.

“See ya tomorrow!” he called up.

As his mom’s car backed up out of the driveway and drove off, you watched it, all the way until it turned down the street. You sighed, tuning out your mother’s calls for dinner. The early evening was still rather bright, the way that was so characteristic of the height of summer, the cacophony of buzzing insects accompanying the blushing sky. At the age of seven, there’s very little you were certain of in life - most questions were unanswered, much of the world still filled with wonder. But, you knew that Steve Harrington was your best friend, and nothing would ever change that. As it turned out, that was only partly true.

NOW, Winter 1988

You press your head against the car window, watching the world pass by. Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree plays on the radio, crackling through the car’s tinny sound system. You’re tired thanks to your early flight from New York, another hour and a half of driving ahead of you before you reach home. You half-listen as your mom babbles on about plans for the upcoming weeks, rattling off holiday preparation plans.

“And then we have the town tree lighting on Friday - you’ll come to that, won’t you? And, I was thinking you and I would hit the mall on Saturday - I know Christmas is still two weeks out, but you know how last-minute shopping just creeps up on you -”

You nod, and let out a few mm hm’s, watching as the highrises and clusters of buildings give way to scattered houses and stretches of forests and fields, leaving Indianapolis behind as Hawkins draws closer. You shift in the passenger seat, already feeling on-edge. Hawkins meant a lot of things - it meant home, with your slightly overbearing parents, your remaining high school friends, home-cooked meals and your twin-sized bed, feigning the simplicity and innocence of your childhood. On the other hand, though, Hawkins meant a life left behind, words unspoken, the person you used to be, and it meant seeing -

“Oh! And, the Harringtons are having their holiday party next Saturday, on the 17th - we’re all going, and we’d love if you could bake that lemon cake -”

Your stomach flips at the sound of the surname, and you whip your head around to face her.

“Wait, what? I, uh - that didn’t happen already?”

You know your voice sounds a bit too shrill, words too rushed. Your mother raises an eyebrow.

“Well, no - they always have it the weekend right before Christmas, you know that. And, I told them we’re coming, but you can bring friends, if you want - there’ll be a whole bunch of kids there, they said that Steve’s inviting his friends -”

You inwardly wince, a pit forming in your stomach.

“I just - I might be busy… mean, there’s so much to do, with shopping, wrapping, and, uh -”

“Sweetie, you’ve always loved that party, it’ll be nice to see everyone! They always ask about you, you know -”

You clench your fist and turn back to face out the window, forehead pressed to the glass. Your mind is reeling - you specifically had been trying to not think about him. Because that leads to thinking about what happened, to thinking about what could’ve happened -

“Besides, it’s your last year of school - after this, who knows where you’ll end up, or what kind of time you’d get off if you’re working -” “Yeah, okay, fine,” you concede, crossing your arms. The song on the radio changes to Last Christmas, and it takes everything in you to not scoff at the irony. It’s another hour until you reach home, you reckon - you rest your head on your arm, and hope that you can nap for a bit, just so you don’t have to think about anything else right now.

THEN, Autumn 1982

You were sitting criss-crossed on your floor, flipping through a copy of Seventeen magazine. Robin Buckley lies on your bed, feet up against your headboard as she stares at the ceiling.

“I mean, I don’t get what the big deal is,” she says, toying with the metal frame with her foot. “I mean, it’s just some stupid dance.”

“It’s not stupid - everyone goes,” you replied, scanning the pages for makeup tips. “Hey, do you think your mom would have anything I could borrow? She sells Avon, right?”

Robin shrugged. “Yeah, I mean, that’s her gig for now. But I don’t know what she keeps onto, I don’t really use that stuff.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Look, Robin - maybe it’s because you’re a freshman, but take it from me - homecoming’s a huge deal.”

Robin raised an eyebrow, a small smirk on her face. “Why? I mean, it’s not like you’ve got a date, right?”

You felt your face heat, and you grabbed the pillow from underneath you, chucking it in her general direction.

“Shut up.”

Robin broke out into a fit of laughter. “I’m just calling it for what it is!”

You crossed your arms indignantly.

“Well, neither do you!”

Robin scoffed, flipping herself onto her stomach.

“Yeah, but the difference is I don’t care about that stuff.”

You returned your attention to the magazine, clicking your pen to start filling out the Which Fall Fashion Style Is Best For You? quiz, replying, “I mean, you say that now - just wait until you have a year of high school under your belt, and you’ll see.”

It was Robin’s turn to roll her eyes, then, resting her chin on her fist. “You know you’re not oh-so-wise for being a sophomore, right?”

You chuckled, and looked back up at her.

“All I’m saying is, there’s more to high school than band practice and drama club.”

Robin grinned at that. “But band and drama are so fun - plus, you get to meet killer, younger friends like me -”

“Yeah, yeah,” you said dismissively, waving your hand. “But, you’ve got to admit, we’ve kind of become losers.”

“We’re not losers, we’re -” Robin thought for a moment, furrowing her brow. “We’re artsy kids, we’re above vomit-stained parties, football games, 1.8 GPAs -”

“You’re so stereotyping the popular kids -”

“You only say that because you like Steve Harrington!”

Your face burned, and you were certain you were turning a ripe shade of red.

“I don’t like Steve - we’re friends. Well, family friends - we go way back, him and me.”

Robin just smirked, rolling over onto her back again.

“Whatever you say,” she says playfully.

“I mean - we don’t really hang out anymore, not like we used to,” you admitted, though it still stung a bit to say aloud.

It had been some time, since you and Steve had sought each other out. He’d catch you in the hallways sometimes, and you even occasionally helped him with his homework. But, you had started having less classes together, being on two different academic tracks. And, ever since joining the basketball team, and the swim team, and hanging out with Carol and Tommy H… things weren’t the same.

It’s what happens, your mother had said, when you had called Steve’s house for the third time in a week only to be told he wasn’t there, that he was busy doing something else. It’s called being teenagers - boys and girls tend to grow apart, sweetie.

You had grumbled something at that, about how it wasn’t the same thing with Steve, but deep in your heart, you knew it was true. He wasn’t a stranger, exactly - but, he wasn’t your friend anymore, not the way he had been.

You sighed, and settled onto your stomach, mimicking Robin’s position from down on the carpeted floor.

“Is that such a bad thing?” Robin asked, picking at her nails. “I mean, he’s kind of a dick, you’ve got to admit.”

You opened your mouth to say something else, thinking for a moment, before you settled on, “Maybe. But, he wasn’t always.”

THEN, Winter 1983

You sipped your hot chocolate, leaning against the corner of the living room wall. The Harringtons always went all out for Christmas, having the food catered from the best Italian restaurant in town, a full table of baked goods and holiday sweets that Willy Wonka would envy. The spiced smell of mulled wine and cranberry cocktails stung the nose, idle chatter and drunken laughter echoing through the house. They invited nearly everyone - his dad’s coworkers, his mother’s book club, all of the neighbors, and, of course, Steve’s friends. Steve had once told you that it was one of the only times during the year that the house didn’t feel abysmally empty, too big for who lived within.

When you were kids, you all played in Steve’s room for a lot of the party, only making your way downstairs to load up on desserts and hot cocoa, making sure to get wired up on sugar before ultimately crashing and needing to be carried home. Now, though, it was different. The now-teenagers mingled with the adults, sneaking some wine and champagne, then absconding off to the basement to get drunk and stupid.

Now, you were staring off at the couch, the younger crowd opting to start the evening in the sunken den, at least until food came out. Steve was sitting on the couch, wearing a ridiculously ugly Christmas sweater, which he was still somehow managing to make charming. And, curled into his side was Nancy Wheeler, looking dainty and beautiful, as usual. He had his arm casually around her, rubbing small circles on her upper arm. Tommy and Carol were all over each other in the corner.

God, you thought, it’s a fucking family Christmas party.

You took a sip of your cocoa, which had thankfully been spiked with rum that Steve had taken from his parents’ liquor cabinet. You looked away before Steve could catch your eye, and see that you were staring.

“So, where are you thinking of applying?” Steve’s mother asked, lazily swirling her chardonnay in her glass.

You blinked, pulled back to reality for a moment.

“Hm? Oh, um - well, I’m trying to dual major in Journalism and English - uh, I know they seem similar, but they’re really not, so -”

“Yes, but where do you want to study? When you graduate next year?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, gripped the handle of the mug a bit tighter.

“Well, I want to be in a big city, so - NYU, Emerson, Fordham, American, Northeastern… oh, and Columbia, which I know is a bit of a reach, but worth trying for.”

Her mouth formed a tight line, her nail tapping the rim of her glass.

“Well, that sounds wonderful,” she said, though her voice was twinged with a bit of sourness. “You really should talk to Steve - he’s really dragging his feet with the applications. I mean, even if he does get them in… just between you and me, we both know he’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer, so I’d hate for him to be disappointed.”

Your skin prickled, the hot cocoa turning sour in your mouth. You thought about the times Steve had confided in you about his parents over the years, his innocence feigning and turning to genuine disdain. Now, you knew well enough to not ask about his family unless he brought it up, the topic being an incredibly sore one.

You took a deep breath, and pasted on a false smile. “Well, just between us, Mrs. Harrington - I think Steve’s pretty great, and he’ll find his way just fine.”

Before she could retort, you shouldered past her, making your way to the table of hors d'oeuvres in the dining room. You smiled at Karen Wheeler, who was conversing with Joyce Byers on the other side. As you stuff a stuffed fig in your mouth, you hear a voice right behind you.

“What’d she corner you about?” Steve asked. You whipped around, coming face to face with the boy. You nearly choked on the food, covering your mouth while trying to swallow it down.

“Um, what?” you managed.

“My mom. Was she grilling you?”

He was asking nonchalantly, as if it was just about the weather, but you knew him better than that - most of it was an act, an armor he had developed over the years.

You just shrugged. “No, not really - she was just asking about where I’m applying to school. You know, just what every adult’s been asking me for the last year.”

His face faltered a bit, and he shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Did she find time to shit on me, while she was at it?”

You gave him a sympathetic look, and reached up to squeeze his shoulder. “Hey - don’t let them get to you,” you murmured, just out of the adults’ earshot.

He sighed, and picked up a mini hot dog from the table, shoving it in his mouth.

“Yeah, well - you and I both have always known that you’re the smart one.”

Your heart ached a little, the way it always did when Steve talked about himself that way.

“Hey,” you whispered, “have a little more faith in yourself, yeah?”

He nodded, lips pursed. Then, he got a mischievous glint in his eye, and leaned in closely.

“Well, how about we load up on some booze, and take this thing down to the basement?”

You grinned, raising your mug of cocoa. “Bold of you to assume I haven’t already started, Harrington.”

He laughed, and shook his head.

“I really do love ya sometimes, you know that?”

Your stomach flipped at that, and you cursed yourself for it. He had said it to you before, a thousand times - when you had given him your last stick of gum in 2nd grade, when you had covered for him when he was out past curfew, when you had come to pick him up when his car broke down in the middle of the night, never once complaining that it was 2am and freezing. Because he was Steve, and even as distance had started to push you two apart over the years, it was impossible for you two to say no to one another.

So, you just smiled, nicked another mini hot dog from the table, and replied as you walked away, “Yeah, and I guess you’re alright.”

THEN, Summer 1985

You scooped the jungle juice out of the bowl, some sickeningly sweet red concoction that had been thrown together, filled with more liquor than you’d like to think about. You filled the Solo cup, the sticky juice dripping down the sides and staining your fingers. You took a drink from it, letting the sweetness dance on your tongue as She’s A Beauty blasted through the speakers. You heard a crash and bang ring from the kitchen, followed by whoops and cheers.

You waded through the crowd, the stench of sweat and booze saturating the air. You caught Robin’s eye, and she waved from the crowd. You both met in the middle, and she clung to your shirtsleeves, grinning.

“Finally! Thought I lost you in this crowd of delinquents!”

You rolled your eyes. “Are you drunk?”

She held up her hand and made a pinching gesture. “I mean, just a little!”

You were both screaming over the music and din of the crowd. Natalie Crone was known for throwing killer parties, legends in the halls of Hawkins High, and her graduation bash was no exception. You had been to them before - not necessarily because it was your scene, and band kids like you and Robin wouldn’t typically get an invite. But, Steve had brought you a few times, and now, they weren’t the kind of parties you were exactly invited to - most of the school just showed up.

“What are you drinking?” Robin yelled, gesturing to the red cup.

“The juice! No clue what’s in it, though.”

“Oh, great - a perfect formula for you to become a blackout mess!”

You scoffed, and leaned in closer.

“Don’t rain on my parade, Robin!”

She smiled, and pulled you close. “Oh, I’d never!”

You both laughed, and moved with the music, downing more juice as you did. Every now and then, a toast was called to the class of ‘85, all of the seniors drinking whatever was in their hand, cheering and hollering.

Soon, though, it was too hot, too much, and you were itching for nicotine and a breath of fresh air.

“I’ll be right back, smoke break,” you yelled, leaning in closer to Robin’s ear. She rolled her eyes, expressing her disapproval for the habit, but you ignored her like you usually did.

You shouldered your way through the crowd, passing a girl spilling her drink down her top, a couple sticking their tongues down each other’s throats in the corner, until you were finally outside on the back porch. There were a few scattered partygoers - one guy throwing up on the lawn, another few people passing a blunt and blowing smoke over the railing.

You breathed in the fresh night air, the sweat cooling on your skin as you embraced being out of the stifling house. You settled yourself against the siding of the house, fishing a box of Marlboros out of your back pocket.

You fumbled for a lighter, frowning when you can’t feel it - did it slip out, while you were dancing inside? Before you could grumble and let yourself become frustrated, a voice cut through the night air.

“Need a light?” Steve asked, his smirking face barely illuminated in the porchlight.

You smiled, lifting your leg up and pressing it against the wall for support.

“What’s it gonna cost me?” you asked cooly.

“Well, it seems we’re an odd couple,” he said, sighing as he leaned back against the wall next to you. “Can I bum a cig? Left mine at home, been kicking myself all night.”

You chuckled, pulling another cigarette out of the box and handing it to him. He accepted it gratefully, placing it in his mouth delicately before he brandished a lighter. He leaned in close, and you met him halfway, letting him light the cigarette hanging from your lips before he lit his own. He took a deep drag, exhaling through his nose as he closed his eyes.

You looked up at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Having a tough night?”

He shook his head, haphazardly running his hand through his hair. “Not exactly. I mean, I was honestly thinking about leaving - the whole thing’s kind of depressing.”

“Why?” you asked, noting the sternness hardening his features.

“I mean - I guess because it’s my last hurrah? It’s stupid, but - everyone in there? They’re going to college, or are set up with some kind of job, or have a plan, and I’m… here. And, it’s my last chance to kind of feel like somebody, you know?”

Your face softened, a knot forming in your stomach. “Jesus, Steve… that’s kind of heavy, don’t you think?”

He glanced over at you, groaning. “Yeah - no, you’re right. It’s just - nevermind. I don’t need to dump this on you. Like I said, stupid.”

He took another drag from his cigarette, looking down at the ground.

“It’s not stupid, Steve,” you said, voice softer, more sincere. All of the usual joking you reserved for your banter was stripped away, your heart aching again for the beautiful boy beside you, who seemed to never quite see himself the way the rest of the world did, the way you did.

“I mean, half of these people are going to flunk out of school anyway, or like, get stuck in a job they hate, or like, end up in a loveless marriage, so… I wouldn’t worry too much.”

He scoffed. “Okay, Ms. NYU, you’re one to talk.”

His tone was playful, but there was an edge to it. It stung, more than it probably should’ve, but you shrugged it off.

“I’m just saying - you’ll figure it out.”

Silence fell between you two for a moment, the buzz of the party and booming music muffled inside the house, the buzz of the evening filling the void.

“You know,” you said, “you said you were thinking about leaving. Are you still?”

He smiled at the ground, and shook his head. “No, not really.”

“Why’s that?”

He locked eyes with you then, a small smile forming on his face. “Well, I found someone pretty cool to hang out with.”

You laughed, flicking some ash off of your cigarette. “Is that what you think I am? Cool?”

“Oh yeah, totally - I mean, I’ve always thought that.”

You both laughed for a moment, until it fizzled out, both of you sitting in silence, blowing smoke into the night. You glanced up at him, chewing the inside of your cheek. Maybe it was the alcohol buzzing in your system, swirling with every coherent thought and tainting them, making you a bit braver.

“Hey, Steve?”

Your voice felt small, and a bit pathetic.

“Hm?”

“What - what happened to us?”

He stilled for a second, his breath halting. It's a minute, passing moment, but you noticed.

“What d’you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

You’d completely turned to face him now, your hip pressed into the wall, hoping you looked casual. He sighed, deeply and fully, still not fully meeting your gaze.

“I don’t know - really, I don’t. I mean - we grew apart, started running in different circles.”

“You mean, I became a nerd, and you became the King of Hawkins High,” you said bluntly, your tone biting.

“I wouldn’t put it that way -”

“You became too cool for me, Steve. I mean, I get it, I do. But - I know you’re still you. You always were. And - there were times, over the years, that you acted like you hardly knew me, like, around school and everything. And, maybe you don’t anymore, in a way. But, it kind of sucked, you know?”

You were aware that you were rambling, your words slurring a bit, but it felt like a weight being lifted off of your chest, even if it sickened you to force the words out. When you looked up again, he was looking at you, really looking at you.

“I’d never act like I didn’t know you,” he said, voice low and soft. “I’m sorry if I ever did.”

You nodded, squashing out your cigarette butt with the toe of your shoe.

“Thanks,” you whispered.

When you looked up again, he was closer, his face inches from yours.

“If I could do it over again,” he breathed, “I’d give it all up, if it meant we could’ve kept things the way they were. Us being close, I mean.”

“Yeah? Even if it meant being a total, utter nerd?”

He nodded, eyes flitting down for a moment.

“Yeah - I’d join marching band and everything.”

You roll your eyes. “Harrington, that’s some absolute bull-”

Then, you were cut off, as he closed the distance and pressed his lips to yours. You squeaked with surprise, not even sure how to register what was happening. But then, your eyes fluttered closed, and you relaxed into the kiss. He tasted like cheap beer and smoke, and smelled like mint and cologne, and your hands were in his hair. You were kissing the boy who had always been there, who had once promised to always be your best friend, and it all at once felt strange and familiar, right and wrong. But, in that moment, everything was Steve, and you let yourself lean into it, ready to feel it all.

Taglist: @cityofidek @fallingwithoutcaution

Reply if you want to be added to the series’ taglist :)

#steve harrington #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington series #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington x fem!reader #tis the damn season #ttds #ttds fic

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miss-atena · 3 months

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request by @consumeroflemoans

I was gonna write a full one-shot for this but then... My Tumblr gave up on me and I lost everything. I'll try my best to recreate the beauty that was there, I swear!

Azul Ashengrotto x MC - Beach Trip

"Pleeeeeease Azul? Pretty please with a Cherry on top?" Yuu looked up at Azul, a puppy eyes and a little pout of the lips. How did he end up in this dilemma? On one side, He had the perfect excuse to see the prefect in something that was not a droopy uniform too big for them, but on the other hand... Just the idea of this made him curl up on himself, the thought of having the prefect of all people possibly reacting like kids used to at him made him more uneasy than ever. "What would I gain as compensation for this, hm? You know, my touring services are not for free, dear prefect" "Is my company not enough?" "Do you prefer a sincere or a nice answer?" "Got it, Got it. I just thought it would be good for your health to take a break from work for the holiday a bit..." Pulling on the health strings... They are good. Azul sighed feeling defeated. "There is no talking you out of this idea, truly. You can count on my presence, then." "Great, it's a date then!" Azul choked on his drink "Meet me in the campus gates at 5!" Great. Just great. What did he agree to?! Why did he even agree, he had all the right to say no actually! That prefect, always making his mind foggy and a deep feeling in his chest whenever they are around... He might as well just try getting stuff in place for when he leaves, he needed to talk to Jade anyway.

And here were them. At the beach. Yuu had this full-body swimsuit, clearly, one that Vil gave to them, considering the big pomefiore emblem in the middle. Azul felt rather uncomfortable in such small clothes, but Yuu's voice made him feel an odd feeling of serenity. Maybe this wasn't so bad if... "Look, the waves are calm today. Wanna take a swim with me?" Oh no. "I would rather stay in the sand for the moment." Azuls stroked his business smile "We don't want our stuff to fly away or even be caught by some little thief, right?" "Oh come on Azul! There is literally no one else in here! And there is no wind coming, I'm sure if we put stuff in the corners of the bathing towel nothing will fly off" "That is not very sanitary at all" "We are not at the Lounge, no need for sanitary measures when we are toes deep in sand" Both paused, looking intensely at each other as if trying to prove their point in sheer stubbornness "If you are afraid of not swimming well with legs, I can help you, y'know? I'm a pretty good swimmer." "Are you implying I have not prepared for swimming in my human form if it was needed?" "Not at all, just that if you need some help I'm here." Another pause, this one, instead of filled with stubbornness, was filled with an uncomfortable air. "Fine. You can stay in the sand, then." Yuu looked downwards, and Azul assumed they tried making him pity them. Oh how dirty, pulling on his benevolence. But he didn't falter and sat down while watching Yuu play in the water.

It stayed like this until he looked away and... there was no one in the water now. Of course, he assumed Yuu was pranking him, they did walk a lot with the twins for his liking. But also... What if it wasn't? What if something caught on their feet, and they are slowly drowning right this instance? The chances are low, of course, but not zero. Also, the beachside seemed to be rather filled with rocks, they could've gotten themself stuck in there and didn't call for help since they were submerged. Azul's brain told him the obvious, this was a trick to get him in the water, but another side of his... not a benevolent side but a caring one, insisted that checking wouldn't hurt him. He didn't particularly need to transform either... Azul ran and swam to where he last saw Yuu. "Prefect? Are you alright?" Azul sharply looked around the water. It was quite deep for the prefect, considering their height difference and the level of the water on him. "Prefect? Hello?" More silence, except he felt something touch his calf. Oh, of course... Knowing them as much as he knew Floyd, he counted mentally on his head: 3... 2... 1... And... "RAHH!!" A wild Yuu jumped from the water and hugged their arms behind Azul's neck "Hahahaha! you looked so worried, it was hilarious!" "Oh, a wild attack from a predator on a poor mermen, who was simply trying to help with his incredible and sincere sense of benevolence... How cruel this world really is..." Azul faked a tear, mostly to hide the intense blush he felt on his cheeks from the closeness he and Yuu had at the moment. "But I do need to pinpoint that Floyd has done things similar to this all since we were mere young teens, so it was not that impressive." "Then why did you come?" "I! I uhm... This is not the matter of the talk right now, is it Prefect?" "It could be..." "I... I uh... I-I..." Come on Azul... this is the perfect time to confess. You could just say it, what is the worst that could happen? but.. "Oh! You wanted to show me your ability with sand castles during our walk here, why don't you show them now?" Azul tried his best to put on his not-so-sweet and innocent smile and push Yuu to the seashore. It is not the time yet... He needs just a bit more time... Maybe then he can say all he really wants to

Hope you enjoy this! It was really fun and I did change from how I did the last one, but I enjoyed this version better tbh! Azul being a coward my beloved

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #thanks for the request!#twst fanfic #azul ashengrotto x reader #twst azul x reader #azul ashengrotto #twst azul #twst azul x yuu #azul ashengrotto x yuu #Yuu!reader #mc reader #tena writing #consumeroflemoans

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floydsglasses · 24 days

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𝙒𝙖𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙏𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝘿𝙖𝙬𝙣 - Robert "Bob" Floyd ( A Quiet Place AU)

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x AFAB OC/ Camille SUMMARY: It was a simple trip, go back into the city and get supplie's. Stay quiet to keep the monsters at bay, and get what they needed, both of them had stuck together since day one of the new world, swearing to not leave each other till the end. Those who dare to mess with either of them will learn the hard way.

Tags: Post apocalyptic setting, Established relationships, mentions of blood and wounds, revenge, bob basically going through it (Sorry), death, kidnapping, implied pregnancy, soft fluff, men being pervy (Srry) angst, implied m3rder, torture, swearing, self defense killing. Use of ASL

A/N SORRY FOR THIS ONE, I dont actually like this ending, im also dedicating this to mamachasemayehm, im so sorry for all that has happened to you I wish you all the best ❤️

WORD COUNT: 9,824

⏁⏁⏁ THE EDGE OF the wave’s crashed at the end’s of her feet. The sun setting painted the sky in a range of pink, orange and blue, she smiled looking up at the cloud’s, sighing in content. She counted herself lucky to be someone that was living in safety miles away from the city.

She wasn't even sure how dangerous the city is, she knows the monster’s that hunt by sound, that are the cause of the destruction she has witnessed. They were scary, they ruled the world. Only good thing about this new world was that she had him

She dug her bare feet into the sand, the soft damp texture between her toes. She held her knees to her chest, her ebony hair held in a tight ponytail with strands of hair loose around her face.

“Hey.” A soft deep voice spoke up, she looked over her shoulder. She gave a small wave at him turning back to the water. His shadow cast onto the sand next to her, he sighs as he take’s the same position as her.

“How are you feeling?” He asked her, she shrugged in response. “Better I think.” She admits, he nodded his head, the sun reflecting off his glasses.

“Do you wanna go to infirmary?” Bob ask’s her, she shakes her head. “No it’s just food not agreeing with me.” She reassured him.

“Are you sure? We don't have to do this trip if you aren't feeling it.” He tells her, the same sweet nature he had kept since the day they met. A smile creeped onto her face as she couldn't help herself.

“We can always make Rooster do the trip.” He suggests to her, she smirks, shaking her head. “You know you don't have to call him that anymore.” She mentions, he shrugged.

“Force of habit.” He says simply, she tap’s the damp sand. “I’m gonna be okay, and not to sound cocky but.”

“We are better at supply trip’s than Bradshaw.” Cami say’s with a smug smile, he shook his head.

“Oh so you can call him that but I can't call him Rooster?” He point’s out, and she shrugged again. “Well yeah.” She says with an obvious tone.

He playfully rolls his eyes. “Oh.” She perk’s up.

“Do you have your knife on you?” She wonder’s, his brows furrowed in confusion at her question.

“Why?” He asks simply.

“I wanna show you something.” She tells him, he reached around in his jean pockets, pulling out his tanto point knife, the deep oak wood glistening in the sunlight that shone on the beach. She took it from him standing up.

“Okay I wanna teach you this.” Cami told him, he raised a brow. “You need to know this, if someone catches you off guard.” She flip’s the blade around in her hand, catching it with one hand.

“Are you sure this is safe?” He ask’s her, she shakes her head.

“No but I don't think you'll get hurt.” She assure’s him, she extends her hand pulling up onto his feet. She stands next to the water, twirling the knife in one hand.

“Alright, I'm a bad guy with a knife. I run at you, what do you do?” She asks him. He stammered for an answer.

“Run the other way.” He answered unsure.

“No.well yes, but not in this situation.” Cami tells him, she shakes her head.

“I corner you, what do you do?” She questions, he smirks looking her up and down.

“Well if you corner me, I think you have an idea what would happen.” He teases her with a soft smile. Her face grew red, she shook her head. “I…I'll stop that.” She say's trying hide her smile. “Okay I'm sorry.” He laughs, she steps closer than him.

“You get cornered, someone swings at you.” She speaks slowly as she lifts up the blade. She takes his right wrist, bringing it to her’s.

“You grab my wrist, tight like this and you.” She instructs him, turning around with a knife in her hand now aimed at her face. Her back pressed against his chest, warming him from the heat of her body.

“They're gonna try and fight back against you, if that happens and you're against the wall.” She continued as she pressed further against him, his heart raced. “You use it.”

“The wall is your friend, hold yourself as tight as you can to it, and then use your free hand.” Cami order’s, she shovels herself off him.

“And you stab them.” She explains, “You understand?” She asks him.

“Alright now you try.” Cami tells him, his brow’s furrowed. “Are you serious?” He ask’s her, she nods her head.

“Yes, I want to make sure you know this.” She says, he looked down at the knife in her hand. She drops it, noticing his stare’s.

“We can do it without the knife.” She assure him. He shakes his shoulders, loosening himself up. She swing’s at him, he grunts as he grabs her wrist. Copying the same move, her back pressed hard against him as he held her wrist with both of his hands.

“Like this?” He ask’s her, she smirks looking down at his arm’s, the veins popping with how tight he holds her.

“More or less.” She answered. “You forgot one thing though.” She points out, his brows furrowed.

“What? What did I do wr-” She sweep’s his leg’s out from under him, he grunts as he falls onto the sand.

He coughs as he looks up at the pink and blue sky. She gets on top of his hip’s, holding both of his wrists, smirking with victory. He groans as he blinks, bit’s of sand on the lens of his glasses blocking his vision.

“You didn't plant your feet.” Cami whispered, he shakes his head, the world spinning around him as he collects himself.

“Oh.” He groans. She removes her hand’s from his wrist, his arm’s laying out in a t-pose. She sits up, her leg’s still stradling him as the sun illuminated her shadow on the sand.

“Are you okay?” She wonder’s with a soft chuckle, he groaned in response.

“Super.” He grit’s at him, she shakes her head at his sarcasm.

“I'm sorry I just like seeing you this way.” Cami told him, he smirked with his brow raised.

“On my back? He wonders.

“Maybe.” She says, she leaned forward caressing his cheek as she brought her lip’s to his, smiling into the kiss as his hands gently held her waist. She inhaled pulling away, her knees digging into the sand.

“If my head wasnt spinning this would be pretty nice.” He comment’s, she smile’s shaking her head, removing herself from him, extending her hand for him to take. Both of them get to their feet turning around walking back.

⏁⏁⏁

SHE HOLDS her jacket close to herself, winter was bitterly ending and she could feel its effects as they both walked down the desolate street of what used to be San Diego. Her body covered in chill’s as she desperately tried to keep her warm on the inside, she didn't want to admit to Bob. She was tired, not exhausted.

Both of them had left at sunrise for the island, they knew it was gonna take a day or two to get what they needed for the couple hundred people on the island. There was already so much pressure on them she didn't want him to worry about her.

A tap on her shoulders makes her turn her head. Bob pushed up his glasses showing her the pocket map of San Diego, showing her the key for the next place for them to raid.

“How far is that?” Cami asked him, both of them already knew Sign Language before the world ended, she had taken deaf education at her college and taught kids. Him on the other hand learned it just because he wanted to.

“Just up the corner.” He tells her, she nods her head. “How are you feeling?” He ask’s her, she shakes her head.

“Cold. But I’ll be fine.” She sign’s, he nods his head. “If you want to stop, take a minute we can.” He tells her, she shakes her head.

“I'm fine, we have to do this.” She says, determination in her eye’s. He furrowed confused on why she was so set on getting supply’s.

“Where else do we have to go?” She changes the subject.

He sighed looking up at the cloudy skies, hoping it was going to rain so they could whisper to each other. “Pharmacy.” He signs.

“Excellent, what do we need?” She wonder’s, he pulls out a small notepad from his backpack. He was better prepared than her. “Find painkillers, needles and bandages.”

“And condoms apparently.” He smirks, hiding his laugh with a soft smile. She shook her head at their grocery list.

“Stolen again?” Cami ask’s, he shrugs.

“It wasn't me.” He clarifies, she raises a brow. “I didn't think it was.” She signed, his lips parted in o shape.

“There's nothing you wanna tell the class, Bob?” She teases him, he playfully roll’s his blue eyes.

“Shut up.” He signs.

It was pure luck that she found him. Both of them met right at the start of day one, she was supposed to be meeting a guy for a date. He was there as well, she didn't think someone quite like him would be at a restaurant as nice as the one she was at. They both started up a conversation with each other, then everything went down.

One of the alien’s had crashed through the window of the restaurant, he had shielded her from the glass, and she had distracted them when they had to run away from the sound seeking creature’s. Both of them agreed to stick together, having been that way for the last two years. They stop in front of a small pharmacy, its sign swinging gently in the wind, the window to the door broken as bit’s and pieces of the building hang out. She wondered what it may have been like for locals to have a pharmacy around the corner pharmacy.

“Do you want me to get you something? Do you need anything?” Bob wonder’s, she shakes her hand. “Just get what we need, I'll be okay.” Cami reasure’s him, she appreciated his concern but it was starting to feel smothering.

She carefully step’s over the glass, being sure to not step on anything.

She looked at the broken sign on the ground, while Bob grabbed pill bottle’s carefully. She was on a mission for something of her own. She felt in her stomach what felt like a cramp, she hoped that it was that so her hunt for feminine products would soon be over. Cami avoided the small mirror’s,her hair was greasy it almost made her happy no one but him could see her. She checked the scattered shelves, a neon pink package with the word’s, Tampax made her smile, happily snatching it up. Stuffing it away in her bag.

Her brown eyes stop on a bright blue box, the world's First Response in bold font. She looked over the shelves grabbing it, shoving it down her bag. She touches her braid nervously looking around her. He turned around the corner, a white pill bottle in his hand and a water bottle in the other.

“What is that?” She asks him. He turned the bottle around showing her the label, Advil. She nod’s her head, he takes out two, handing them to her. “Got what you need?” Cami asks him, downing the small red pills with water. He shakes his head.

“I need to look in the back.” He tells her.

“Insulin and needles aren't usually kept in the front.” She reminds him. She shivers, holding her arm’s close to herself, walking past the counter.

A Hand written sign with the word’s, ‘Back in Five minute’s’ The irony behind it.

Her tom lightly taps the floor. She had to trade out her sneakers for lightweight footwear, she was lucky enough to not have to be barefoot in this world. She couldn't imagine how it would be for someone living in their new world with no shoe’s.

She was very privileged to be on the island; a year ago she and Bob had been hunkering down in a beach house when they heard the song. “Beyond the Sea” playing on their radio, Bob was able to trace the signal of the radio tower to a distant island. The wind outside howled loudly.

He looks at the shelves for the medical supplies. Looking between the shelves watching the dark haired woman, her hair done in a single braid, the rest of her hair tucked away in a gray beanie.

He stop's in his trail, feeling a thick liquid beneath the sole’s of his feet, he slowly looked down, a pool of red, he covered his mouth as his heart fell to his stomach.

His hand shake’s as he follows the blood trail, the white tile on the pharmacy coated in a thick line of brown and red. His eyes widened as he looked down, a man with green eyes stared at him lifeless, holding his side as it leaked out onto the floor. The gash was deep, not from the talon’s of the creature’s.

He looked closer at the deceased man, Bob could see several wound’s to man’s torso. His chest rose up and down as tears came to his eyes.

He gasped as he feel’s an arm around his shoulders, Cami looked at him fearfully.

“What is it?” She asked him, he pointed at the wall. Her heart skipped a beat as goosebumps flooded her body. She gagged holding her mouth as a queasy feeling overcame her suddenly, she turned on her feet walking out the opened alley door.

She emptied the contents of her stomach onto the wet concrete, she coughed as she kept reacting,he held her braid away from her face as she finished. Cami groaned softly, wiping her mouth leaning on the wall. “I'm okay.” Cami reassures him. Her brows furrowed as she tapped him on the arm, pointing down the alley.

Both of them look at each other then at the dumpster where a man with blonde hair in a mullet, holding a bowie knife coated in fresh blood that dripped onto the ground. He slowly looked up at the couple.

Bob holds out his hand up in surrender, holding his arm to shield Cami from the possible threat. His lip quivered as his eyes stared at them widened, his breath shaky.

The both of them could understand clearly what had happened. The man looked to the sky, inhaling deeply. Bob shake’s his head pleading with him silently, Cami stood up grabbing his hand with a tight grip. Their breathing shaky with fear.

He looked at them one last time, determination fiery in his eyes. He opened his mouth a scream of agony, echoing off the city wall’s and back to them.

Cami take’s Bob’s hand as they both sprint away. Their heart’s pounding as blood rushes from their heads, quickly and desperate to get far as they could from the inevitable. Bob gasps as he slip’s on a puddle collapsing to the ground, scrambling to get to his feet.

Cami huff’s as she puts all of her weight on him, holding his mouth to keep quiet. His blue eye’s shadow over with tears as they are forced to listen to the inhumane crie’s filling the air. Glasse’s shatter’s once more as the hears the final blow from the creature.

⏁⏁⏁

THE FIRE CRACKLED and popped, the rain outside patterned away heavily on the roof of the abandoned home. Photos had since fallen off the wall, notebook paper with crayola drawing turning yellow, sometimes she would look at home’s like this and wonder what it may have been like. Were they a big happy family that celebrated holidays with each other each year or was it a happy facade that hid away at the crack’s of the broken family.

Bob look’s up from his book, neither of them were really speaking with each other. She didn't have much to say, her mind kept slinking back to the day’s events. She hadn't realized how bad things were in the city, how naive the both of them were.

He takes a seat next to her on her sleeping bag on the floor. She held her knees against her chest as thunder rumbled outside. He leaned over to his bag, pulling out a small blue ipod with a spongebob sticker on it.

He pulled out the wired headphones, untangling them. “You brought that with you?” She asked him, he nodded.

“Why wouldn't I?” He whisper’s, her lip’s form a thin line.

“I just thought that it was too precious to bring with you.” Cami points out, the light from the fireplace illuminated his shadow onto the ceiling fan.

“I didn't really bring it for myself.” He tells her. Thunder rumbled outside as he handed it over to her, she licked her lip playing with the button’s.

“I know you like music to calm down.” He says, the screen lit up with a click of her thumb, she sighed sadly. He had found it during the first few weeks of the apocalypse, hunkering down in an electronics store in downtown San Diego. Most of the music left on the device being from 70’s to 2000’s,

She clicks recently played songs. Hovering over the button. She wiped her face, her body felt fatigued.

“I’m so tired.” She mumbled touching her braid, his brow furrowed in concern. “What is going on with you?” Bob wonders.

“It's nothing, it's just ..been a long day, and you know it.” Cami dismissed. He bit his lip, she was downplaying her own problem and he wished that she wasn't. He didn't care much about how much they were able to pack away, he just wanted her to feel better.

“Yeah I get that but you have been this way the last few days.” He point’s out, she shakes her head.

“It’s not a big deal, I’ll be fine tomorrow.” Cami reasure’s. His gaze on her softened, the light of the fire reflected onto her face. “I just don't.” He stuttered.

“I don't want to see you get hurt.” He admitted, his deep voice cracking at the end. Her eyes darted as she looked at him “Cause what If I end up like that guy in the alley?” He wonder’s.

“You're not..you won't.” Cami shake’s her head, her voice smooth. she brings her hand’s to his cheek gently caressing him.

“I don't want to.. I don't want to have to do what he did.” Bob says softly, she brings her lip’s to his forehead, holding him closely as he wraps his arms around her shoulders holding her closely, the warmth of the fire radiating from the couple.

“You won't ever have to do that.” She whispered in his ear. “I promise.” Her voice silky virated against him. He sighed into her shoulder, her hand’s trailed from his face to his shoulders holding him close, inhaling his scent of cypress. Still embracing they lay next to each other, with a free hand he grabs the ipod, his finger’s untangling the white wire’s. Placing one of the earbuds in her over-covered ear, clicking on the center button starting the music.

The soft guitar of Neil Young’s Harvest Moon play’s in her ear. Camile sighed in content, letting herself succumb to the fatigue that flooded her. The rain outside continued heavily, he kept her close, feeling her heart steadying as she fell asleep.

⏁⏁⏁

THE FIRE died as the night went on, his broken watch showing the time, 12:09AM. He couldn't bring himself to sleep, no matter how much he shut his eyes he kept seeing the man in the alley. The way his hands shook as he stared at the both of them, it was haunting to him how the man simply let himself die, not being able to live with what he had done.

The rain had stopped, which did not settle his nerve’s knowing that it set him up for more danger. Behind him he can hear his girlfriend shuffle in her sleeping bag, on her lip’s a soft smile laid, dreaming about anywhere but where they were.

During the day, he saw the color in her face slowly become sickly pale, draining the russet color from her. The bead of sweat she wiped away, saying she was just hot from the sun, he knew was a lie. He wanted to help, and she was too stubborn to admit she needed it, he sighed leaning over to his bag pulling out his notebook ripping out a spare sheet. Writing with his pen,

“I'll be back, went to get more meds 4 u.” Doodling a smile with glasses, he smirked to himself at his own cheesiness. He set it down on his pillow in her peripheral sight, he hoped she didn't wake up early, he leaned over kissing her on the forehead.

He wanted to reassure her he would be back, but he couldn't talk. He picked up the messenger bag with cans they had collected, tip toeing on the floor before getting out the front door. He walked through the vacant neighborhood passing by the overturned cars and abandoned bicycle’s.

He had witnessed the horror of day one of their new normal. The way the creature’s moved at the slightest sound, the clicking that came from their flower petal head’s that he had only caught glimpse of.

This world was dangerous, scary and depressing. It would be much more difficult to do it alone, it scared him what may have happened if he had chosen not to be in that restaurant that day, would he be dead like everyone else?

He stepped inside the pharmacy, being only a five minute walk must have been a godsend to the people. He avoided the glass on the floor, the backdoor lightly swinged as the wind outside howled.

He looked at the blue signs that hung above the isle’s, flu and cold. His finger’s trailed on the cool metal as he read each box and bottle. He wasn't sure on which one would be the most effective, beginning to grab any that said Extra on them. A snap pulled him out of his focus, his heart dropped to his stomach at the sudden sound. He patted his side for his knife, it hidden away in his sheath. His initials etched into the brown leather, cami had taken the time to stitch in a feather for him.

He rounded the corner of the isle’s. Scanning over the label of a bottle, Maybe it’s allergies and she is just— He gasped as a cloth clasped down over his mouth, muffling his pant’s of terror, he desperately reached for his knife, his arms held behind his back.

He grunted, thrashing back and forth trying to get out. His eyes darted back and forth, two men with their mouths covered by bandana’s. Other two stood off their faces covered as they stared at him down. He groaned as his face met the wet pavement of the street.

On his lower back, he can feel a weight pressed deep. One of the men scoffed, looking him up down, predator and prey. He bends down, his dirty fingernails caressing his cheeks. He snatched the man’s bifocal glasses off his face, his vision blurring instantly.

“Where do you think he came from?” A bald man wearing a blue bandana signed. The other two shrug in response.

“Might be hunkering down in those old suburbs.” Red bandana signs. They take Bob’s messenger bag, searching its contents as he trashed it against his captor’s. Setting down the can’s and pil’s softly on the ground.

“You think he is alone?” Yellow bandana asked, Blue shrugged. “You don't see anyone else do ya?” He point’s out.

“We gonna take him to an auction?” Yellow wonder’s, Red’s knee pressed further into the man’s back, he bit down as the sharp pain shot through his body.

“I doubt he even make it to the stage.” Red sneared, smirking with venom. A light metal clicking makes Bob perk up, bit’s of cement stuck to his cheek’s. Blue’s eyes widen as he read the lettering engraved into the dog tags.

“Check it out, military.” He signs, Bob could make out some of their motion’s even without his glasses. His heart pounded in his ears as he listens to them toss his dog tag’s to each other.

“What kind of name is BOB?” Red signed to blue, he shrugged with his sinister smirk. Red’s dirty nail’s dangled the medallion against his cheek. “Ronan said any military we take for question.” Yellow points out, blue and red look up at each other. “Looks like we will have some fun tonight boy’s.”

Bob grunted, thrashing as he was forced back up. These men were not friendly, and he was sure that these people were a part of the group that Fanboy and Rooster had warned them about. The radical’s who were desperate for blood.

⏁⏁⏁

HER BROWN EYES fluttered open. She turned over, the lack of a shadow casting from the dying fire confused her. The red plaid sleeping bag remained unpaid and a single notebook paper.

“I'll be back, went to get more meds 4 u.” Cami’s heart pounded, he went off on his own- she think’s. She groaned, getting to her feet, holding her head as she collected her thought’s. Maybe he went far and he was just taking time to avoid making a sound.

She looked down at her wrist, her neon pink wrist watch with the cracked glass, the time reading; 12: 20AM. She hoped that he hadn't been gone for long and he was coming back soon. Her bare feet slapped against the tile as she walked across the floor, she hoped that she didn't step on the loose tile.

She walked up the stairs, looking down the empty hallway. Lifeless with the paint slowly peeling away, picture’s overturned or broken. It was sad, a family torn from the world so quickly. It reminded her where she had grown up with her parents till she was fourteen, going to live with her uncle Curtis on his ranch outside San Diego.

She used to have a big family till her parents had passed away, her grandparents had long left her, and her only relative left was her doom’s day prepping uncle. He taught everything that he thought she should know. She used to think he was crazy and did too many hallucinogens as a teenager. To be fair to him now, she bet he was laughing when the alien’s showed up.

Cami stepped inside a pink bedroom, a small twin size bed in the corner with unmade quilt sheets. The toy’s scattered on the floor, and clothes thrown around, her tinkerbell blanket acting as a makeshift curtain, it reminded her of her own childhood bedroom.

CLING!

She flinched getting on the floor, her heart pounded at the sudden noise. She covers her mouth leaning against the wall, listening for what may have caused the disruption. There is no one here, only two things could be responsible for the sound.

The monster’s who hunted anything that disturbed their perfect world, she had been careful had they could have heard her, unless it was the other thing. People, and not good one’s. She pushed back the strand’s of loose hair, peeking over the window seal.

In the street’s, two dark sholleute’s illuminated from the cloudy moon. Her stare fell to their hand’s, crossbow. Same ones that used to fire arrows on two survivors of the island, at least that’s what she had heard.

What do they want? She thinks in a panic. Their light’s shined in each direction of the neighborhood, entering each house briefly looking around and it wouldn't be long before they would be looking in her house. Where’s Bob when you need him, she thinks. She inhaled deeply as she began to devise a plan, she had no reason to harm them they haven't done anything to her…yet. She moved away from the window, looking around for an object. If she could distract them it could give her time to hide, or fight. In the corner, a red and blue rubber ball, Perfect, She thinks, she tiptoed across the pink carpet picking up the ball clutching it to herself.

Her feet padded heavily against the wood as she got to the master bedroom, she kneed the bed as she opened the window creaking with the crank turning. She looked at the neighboring house, a tree with its leaves slowly growing back,

Cami grunted as she threw it at the branches, it snapped bouncing between each other getting stuck. Both men look between each other, looking for the noise. She didn't spare any time rushing downstairs, she picked up her backpack as she watched them.

Blue bandana walked around the front of the house, his grip on the trigger of his crossbow never leaving. She furrowed her brows as a glist from his pocket shone in her eye’s from the moonlight. She squinted her eye’s, her heart racing.

A silver and gold tinted bifocals laid in his pocket, a scratch in the corner of the glass. This wasn't just any run of the mill glasses, it was the one of the man she loved. Her blood boiled in anger pulling on the handle of her ebony knife. Red bandana’s heavy boot’s scruff against the tiled floor, his flashlight shining in each room. His partner with his blue bandana, follow’s right behind him. In the living room by the fireplace, that remained with ember’s, laid two sleeping bags unmade.

He turned around. “Someone else was with him.” Red pointed out, he nodded.

“Where do you think they went?” Blue ask’s, his partner shrugs with his light. “Might have skipped out, trouble in paradise?” He joked.

“You check the bags, I'll go look outside.” Red order’s him, blue mock salutes him with two fingers, Red step’s through the broken sliding door on the wood patio. In the center of the green backyard amongst the overturned swing set, a dirty pool with leaves floating on the top, green and brown coloring the water.

His nose turned up in disgust, he can only imagine the feel of the water. He shines his light in the corner, looking around for signs of life, though he was pretty sure no one was in the house, does not explain the tree sound.

Crack!

He turned on his heels, looking around as his heart pounded in fear. He aimed his crossbow at the roof of the house, the sound didn't return easing his nerve’s. He gasped as his body met the cold water that weighed him down.

He gasped for air as he broked for the surface. A figure blurred from the water, held him by the collar.

“Where is he?!” She demanded, he coughs up water.

“What?!” He ask’s, she grunt’s shoving him under, he gagged as he arose again. She holds up the bifocals’ to him. “The man, where is he?!”

Her teeth gritted staring at the man. “Tell me where you took him?!” Cami ordered.

“I dont know what the fuck your talking about!” He exclaims, she shakes her head shoving him over the edge of the deep end. He grunted as flayed around under the dirty water, he was forced back to the surface again.

“Where did you take him?” Cami demanded, her shoulder tense as her eye’s fired with anger. He shakes his head, faking confusion. She reached for her waist, grunting as she pulled out her knife, her blade grazing his cheek as he stared at her fearfully.

“You tell me where he is, or I'll cut your fucking throat.” She threatened with her eye’s dark, gripping the back of his head, pulling on his wet hair. He groaned as she drugged her blade across his cheek, blood dripping into the water.

“Steel plant.” He shiver’s out, her lip’s straightened. “Where?” Cami growled, her fingernail’s digging into his head.

“Ahhh…by the dock’s, they're keeping him there till Ronan decides what to….do.” He stammered, his eye clouding with tear’s “Are you lying?!” She growled, her blade pushing further into his cheek, he moaned in pain shaking his head. “No no I swear.” He state’s in a whisper.

“Please..I have a wife, a baby…she is only two, you don't have to do this.” The man pleaded with her desperately, blood flowing down his face as he begged her with mumble’s of please’s, and prayed.

“You're wrong about that.” Cami whisper’s, his eyes widened, she shakes her head shoving him away from her. “Get the fuck out of here, and dont come back.” She ordered, he nodded his head.

He quickly got out of the dirty water, climbing over the edge and stumbling away from her. She touched her wet braid as her mind raced with tought’s, she almost killed a man. She swam to the edge of the pool lifting herself up.

With a grunt she is forced back into the water, she groans muffled as her body holds tight to the floor, she gasps as she breaks for air. Blue bandana gripped her ebony hair with an iron grip.

“Stupid bitch.” He whisper’s, she snapped away his wrist with her free hand, the other gripped the black handle plunging her blade deep into the man’s abdomen. A scream of anguish filled the air as did an inhumane roar.

Sounds of tree branches and wood snapping. Cami takes a deep breath looking at the roof, she grunts as she dives into the shallow end, pushing the man into the deep end. In the muffled brown water the sound of splashing and screech’s play to her. She gasped for air, she held herself to the algae tiled end. The creature’s strong arm’s flung around in the water as it clung to the surface world, failing as its body slowly fell flat, floating dead. Cami sighed in relief, her body shivering. In her other hand, glasses with water droplets thankfully not cracked, and on the other her bloody knife.

Where are you? She thinks.

⏁⏁⏁

HIS BODY ACHED as he slowly regained his consciousness, he could make out very few things but he was sure he wasn't in the suburban home anymore. He groans opening his mouth, restricted to the feeling of cloth in his mouth and around his jaw. He grunted, against the cutting feeling against his wrist. “I wouldn't do that if I were you.” A voice whispered to him, he panted looking up from his lap. A blurry figure sat away, two other men stood next to the man in the center, staring him down like prey.

“You know it’s one thing to trespass in our city.” The man start’s, looking between the two bandanas, “But to do it after that explosion two weeks ago is ballsy.” He state’s, Bob furrowed a brow.

He shakes his head grunting against the cloth. “Relax, we just wanna ask you some questions, and here we can see it’s all deep underground.”

“You know what else that means?.” He asked standing up, he placed a hand on the captive man’s shoulder, leaning forward whispering in his ears. “No one but me will hear you scream.”

His blue eyes widened in anger, he gritted his teeth struggling against the rope that dung into his wrist. The two men walk to the opposite side of him, one pulls the cloth away from his mouth.

“Who do you work for?” The man with his hair buzzing asks him, he shakes his head. “No one.” Bob answered truthfully, these men were not gonna know if he was lying or not.

“Now son, you and I both know that god frowns upon lying, and if you lie to me I will assure you that your end will not be quick.” His southern drawl deep at the end, his lip’s form a thin line.

“Where did you come from?” The man ask’s, Bob glared at him.

“Nowhere.” He says calmly, the man sadly smile’s. He shakes his head, biting his lip. The man swing’s his face punching him in the jaw. Bob groans, his hair is grabbed forcing him to look up.

He picks up a bag, removing the object’s from it. He set the can’s and medicine in front of him on an old tire. The man smirks, looking him up and down.

“Who is this for then?” He demanded, Bob shake’s his head. “No one.” He groaned as his hair was tugged on tightly. “We provide for those who cannot provide for themselves, we shower those with the fruits of our labor.” He quotes, chuckling darkly.

“Certainly you werent gonna eat this can of peaches all on your own now were you?” His captor wondered. He rolled his eyes. “I like fruit.” Bob answered plainly.

“Sure you do, and I bet that these.” He says picking up the orange bottle of oxy. “Were just for fun.” He chuckle’s.

“Yes, I want to pop one, good for the nerve’s, or are you already on to something special? .” Bob remarked, the man scrunched his nose up.

“Your a pretty mouth fucker for being tired up.”

Bob smirked, in the back of his mind he was hoping that Cami had been smart and fled to the island. These men were more dangerous, and he couldn't imagine what they would do if they found her alone. The image’s flood his mind of her helplessly surrounded by men, the blood in him boiled in fury.

“We don't get many of you because well you.” He chuckled again, taunting him in a way.

“Now that.” He picked up a can of green beans, tossing it lightly.

He grunt smacks the end of it to his nose. He moaned as his world spun around, he panted as blood trickled onto the concrete floor.

“We can't have it.” He sneered.

“Tell me where you came, better be the fucking truth.” He ordered, he gripped his dirty blonde hair with an iron grip. Bob shake’s his head with wide eye’s.

“Nowhere I swear I'm all alone.” He pleaded.

“Now now Robert.” He spat out his name with venom. “We already said lying will get you nowhere.”

“I’m not lying.” Bob state’s, the man’s eyes flashed with anger as he once again swung at his face, he shook his head in disapproval.

“I know where you came from! And I know there are more of you, NOW tell me where your base is?!” He exclaimed, Bob licked his lip’s as he closed his mouth, copper filled his tongue as he stared in the green eye’s of his captor.

“Military took my wife, she left with one and you are military so FUCKING ANWSER ME!” He growled in his face, his nail’s digging into his cheeks as he forced him to look at him. He remained silent.

“Maybe some motivation will help.” He ask’s, he shoved the pilot away from him. He looked at the other men.

“Grab it.” He state’s.

“Yes Ronan.” One answer’s he glare’s at them. “What did i fucking say about calling me by my name!” He exclaimed.

“Sorry sir, here you go.” The bandana answers by handing him four polaroid photos. He smirked, holding one up to the tied up man. His heart raced as he recognized those picture’s imdeiatly.

“She’s pretty.” Ronan say’s. In the photo was his girlfriend, dressed in sleep short’s and his yellow San Diego shirt, grinning at the camera with her messy black hair unkempt. It was lazy morning for the both of them, he couldn't help but capture the moment.

“Bet you would do anything for her, and you seem like the type to never want to leave his wife’s side.” He summarizes, his glare deepened as his thumb caressed her face. A fury burned deep in him, almost possessive.

“I can respect that.” Ronan tell’s him, his heart pounded.

In this man he could see everything that this world had turned people into, the underbelly of humanity. He moved to another photo.

“Now that is sweet.” He comment’s, holding it up. She had taken it spur of the moment, she kissed him on the cheek and snapped the picture. “Now I bet she doesn't leave your side either.

“You know I think…that you didn't come alone.” Ronan taunted, his blue’s eyes widened at his word. “Oh…she did, didn't she?” He covered his mouth in surprise. He pulled another photo out, the wolf whistled looking between the tied up man and the polaroid.

“Now this one.” He start’s. He moaned, licking his lips and taking his seat back. He turned the polaroid around for Bob to see. His heart skipped a beat, in the image was a private gag photo she gave him, for him only, it was never meant to be seen by anyone. With the flash on, she had her shirt lifted with her bare breast exposed, winking at the as on hand covering her other bare chest. “I bet she feels really good.” He scoffed. Bob shook with anger in his face. He blinked slowly as Ronan leaned forward to him. “Just between us.” He whispers.

“How does she feel?” He questions with a wide smirk. Bob’s mouth widened as he spat dark red onto the man’s, he cackled as the man fell over onto the floor. He smirked with red blood coloring his teeth. “

How does that feel, huh?” He wiped his mouth on his jacket, spitting at the man again. His eye in fury looked at the captive man.

“I’m not fucking telling you anything.” He spoke up.

“Get him up,put him in the chamber.” Ronan ordered in fury.

The two men forced the blonde up from his chair dragging him into a no longer functioning furnace. Both men climb inside, forcing the pilot to the metal floor. Ronan towered over him, bending on his knees. He cut’s Bob’s tape from his ankle, keeping his hand bound. “See how you feel without a little bit of air.” He tells him. “In the morning he is done.” Ronan says, walking out. His blue eyes looked at him fearfully. The two men exit, closing the steel door with the slam of the latch. He choked as he felt the oxygen leave the room almost instantly.

⏁⏁⏁

THE TWO MEN SMIRKED, both inhaling on the end’s of their cigarettes, the star’s began to fade away, dawn approaching in a short hour. Four men played guard to their prisoner as they waited for the boss to give an answer to what they would do with him. Two stayed outside while two more watched downstairs in the basement.

“How much did you win from that game?” Yellow bandana ask the man in black black, his brows furrowed as he thought.

“11 grand.” He signs, yellow nodded impressed with his partner. “Shit, wish I had that.” He says, from the shoot that led down to the basement, a man in a black baseball cap and purple bandana emerged.

“What are you doing?” Yellow asks him, he climbs over looking at the both of them. “Taking a piss.” He signed, they grimaced as they shook head’s at him.

“So how long did you stay there?” He asked his friend, and he shrugged. “About twenty years, then I left.” He answers.

“Damn man.”He sign’s off, a grunt in the distance catche’s their attention. They spun around to look at the other end of the factory. The other guard return’s, adjusting his hat.

“Get clogged up?” Black bandana signs, he looked up, flipping them the obscene gesture with his middle finger. They chuckled as they kept smoking.

Downstairs the guard climbed back down, his boot’s thumping heavily against the ground as his baggy jacket swung around. In the center of the basement, Bob remained tied to the chair he was in. His face littered with different blow and cut, his arm’s slumped down as he looked only at his feet.

“Damn that was quick.” Green bandana comments, he nodded in agreement as he circled the room looking at the prisoner. Green slumped against his chair, holding on to his crossbow.

“He ain't talking, guess we took it all out of him.” He commented, he looked at the stack of tires next to him, the polaroid photos still laying there. He smirked, reaching for them as he admired them.

“Fuck.” He grumbled with a lick of his lips, he looked at the battered man sitting across from him

“You know if we find your lady you mind if I have a spin with her?” He asks him.

“It’s cool if you do..but im keeping this photo right here.” He tells him holding up the nude photo of Cami, his stare staying on the ground.

“Hope you understand..I don't get much action these days if you know what I mean.” Green scoff’s.

“You don't but that’s alright.” He grumbled, the man looked down at the photograph again, his palm kneading the end of his pant’s.

“Damn.” He whispers. Green leaned over to purple, he stops as he looks at him. “Ever seen a rack like this?” He asks cackling, purple’s deep laugh’s slowly at his friend as he admires the photo.

He lunged forward, wrapping his arm under his windpipe, locking him in place as he gasped for air, clawing at purple’s arm’s as he desperately clung to air. His slowly closed shut as his body fell slump, unconscious. Bob furrowed his brow confused at his actions.

“Why did you do that?” He wonder’s, purple turned around marching over to him, unsheathing a knife from his waist, cutting through his ankle restraints. “Why are you helping me?” He wonders.

“Because who else loves you enough to come after you.” A female voice say’s, his heart flutters as he recognizes the deep brown eyes that looked up at him. He smiled warmly as she removed her bandana.

“Cami?” He breathed out. She caressed his cheek, running her thumb softly over the cut’s on his face.

“What did they do?” She asked in disbelief.

“They tried to break me.” He whisper’s out, she shakes her head getting up, she grunt’s cutting through the duct tape around his wrist. He groan at the pressure leaving his hand’s, and she walked around. He brought his hands to her cheek’s, cressing the scratches and cuts on her cheeks.

“Are you hurt?” He asked her, his thumb running over the dried brown stain on her cheek, she shook her head. “I'm fine.” Cami stated.

“Did they hurt you?” He asks again, she grabs his hand pulling them away from her. “No..save your voice, we don't have much time.” She tells him.

“What are you talking about?” He wonders, shaking his head confused. She looked down at the unconscious man, she walked over to him snatching his bandana off his face tossing it to her boyfriend.

“You put that on, his jacket should fit you.” She explains, she collected the thing’s removed from his sack, shoving the polaroid photos in the bottom. “You're gonna go upstairs, pretend to be him.” She order’s.

“Okay then what?” He ask’s her, she grunts as she takes off the heavy jacket from the bandit, tossing it back to him.

“He comes back down here, I will knock him out.” She explains. He hadn't seen her this way before, taking charge and so focused. It almost scared him, and helped him with how was feeling.

He wanted to tear these men apart for even daring to mess with them, for even thinking of touching her the way he does. She picked up the crossbow from the ground, reloading it, turning to look at him.

“When you get up there, knock out the last guard, we aren't too far from the boat and I already put our bag’s there.” Camiele quickly explained to him, he nodded his head compiling. He put his arm through the large jacket, wrapping the green bandana on his face.

“How did you find me?” He wonder’s, she turned on her heels. “What my uncle taught me.” She tells him blankly.

“I cant believe they fucking took you.” She grumbled, her shoulders tense as moved things around. His mouth parted at her fury.

“Did you kill them?” He asked her, and she stopped.

“Not me, the creature heard one when he tried to kill me.” She state’s, his heart pounded at her fast pace.

“It doesn't matter if we have to do this now or never.” She continued. He grabbed her hand as she walked by, she looked at him in his teary blue eyes as he stared at her. Without his glasses, he truly looked like a battered man with each bruise that was forming on his tan skin.

“You didn't leave.” He says, her gaze softened for a moment. “Never.” She whispered, she leaned forward on her tiptoes kissing his cheek. She pressed her forehead against his.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.” She whispered, pulling away, he adjusted his cap on his head. He walked over to the ladder, turning to look at her. Good luck, she signed to him.

He takes a deep breath as he begins to climb to the hatch. He carefully pushed up the lid, setting it back up. His heart pounded in his ears as he swung his leg’s over the metal, he strided over to the two men chain smoking.

They laughed, turning to him. Yellow raised a brow at him. “Switched already?” He signed to him.

“Yeah, he’s in the chamber.” He signed in response. Black scoffed. “Being mouthy again?” He asks him.

“I ought to teach em something about respecting superior’s.” Black sneared, bob’s shoulders shook in anger, he cleared his throat.

“Well do it then.” He signed with a dark chuckle.

Black nodded his head, flicking his cigarette. He patted green on the shoulders as he paced over to the shoot. Bob leaned against the brick wall, looking out at the skyline as the sun had picked through the yellow and blue night.

Yellow tap’s the ground. “With all these people coming back, maybe we will find that place.” He tells him, he raised a brow. They kept asking about the island, mentioning something about a wife.

“I don't know I kind of like this.” Bob played along, yellow took a drag of his cancer stick blowing out smoke.

“What?” He asks him. He shrugged.

“Getting killer view’s like this.” He pointed out at the sky, Yellow turned his head, leaning out, he smirked under his facial covering. It looked like something witnessed in a painting, with each color perfectly chosen. The man gagged as the windpipe was blocked, he clawed at the arm that choked him. Yellow grunt’s he elbowed the man behind him, Bob stumbled back, he panted holding his bruised rib.

Yellow’s eyes darkened, he tackled him onto the concrete. Bob huffed as he clawed at him with the strength he had left, the man on top of him growled as he wrapped his fingers around his throat, squeezing the air from his lungs.

Bob gagged as he scratched at his face, pushing his face cover off him. Yellow’s smiled looking down at him, he gasped as sharp pain was felt into his back, he turned over his shoulder seeing a woman with a dark braid.

He gripped the blade that stuck out his back, his eyes widened as he removed it from his back, hissing with his teeth as he held up the blood soaked metal to the rising sun. He grunts as he swung at the young woman.

She ducked, kicking him away from her. Yellow’s arm’s are restricted as he backs into a wall, into a person. Bob grunted as he pushed the blade away from himself, keeping his feet firmly placed on the ground, pressing deep against the brick as the man fought hard.

With his free hand he gripped the man’s hand, plunging the knife into his throat. The blood dripped down his mouth as he stumbled around, desperately stopping the blood that gushed out, finally collapsing to the ground with a gurgle. Bob sighed in relief, turning around. His hand shaking as his heart pounded, he couldn't believe what he had done, he had killed a man. He didn't think he was actually capable of actually killing someone, much less stabbing one.

Cami’s breath shake’s as she extends her arm’s bringing him close. The morning cold shivered up and down her body, he placed his chin on her forehead as they held each other. Her brown eyes rolled into the back of her head as she began to feel faint. She fell forward into his chest, he grunted catching her with both of his arm’s as she laid limp against him.

⏁⏁⏁

DAWN HAD finally come, shining through the windows of the small home. On the plaid couch in front of the fireplace, Camile laid asleep, a fluffy blue blanket clutched against her body. She groaned, turning over as her brown eyes slowly fluttered open.

Her eye’s slowly adjusted to the bright light that shined. She recognised where she was, the familiar scent of cedarwood and bayberry filling her nose, bit’s of clothing on the floor and on the mantle photos from the world before. She was home.

She didn't have time to relax as her tongue watered with an awful taste, she clutched her mouth as she leaned over to the teal trash bin next to her, emptying the contents of her stomach into it, she gagged as the potent smell filled her nose.

She moaned in relief leaning back against the couch. The floorboard creaks making her perk up, she turned over looking in the kitchen arch way. There stood her boyfriend, wearing jeans and a dark green henley shirt, unbutton at the top. “Are you okay?” Bob ask’s her, she nodded her head touching her forehead.

He walked over to her, a plate in hand as he sat on the coffee table. His face was cleaned up, the cut’s on his head covered with a small white bandage. A bruise painted his lip’s, his bifocal covered most of the damage done to his eyebrow.

“What happened?” Cami wonder’s, he sighed. “You passed out, and I had to drag you to the boat.” He explained plainly, he handed her a cup of water with two red tablets in his hand.

“You have been asleep since this morning, and I had you checked out at the infirmary, you weren't hurt.” Bob reassures her, his voice low and raspy, probably from the suffocation.

Cami groaned sitting up, her bare legs being met with the brisk and warm air of the small cottage. She looked down, she guessed that he had changed her clothes for her, graciously he kept her shirt on.

“What about you?” She wondered, he shrugged the question off. “Couple bruised ribs, busted lip and eye brow, fancy shiner growing on my forehead as for my eye’s.” He stop’s, her eye’s widened.

“What..what is it?!” Cami asked concern, his blue eyes met her dark eyes.

“I don't think I can see very well.” He tells her, his lip’s forming a mischievous smirk, she shook her head at his behavior.

“Not funny.” She scold’s him. He bit his lip shaking his head. “Couldn't resist.” He says.

She leaned forward, taking the drink from him, swallowing the water and pill’s. Slushed the water around in her mouth to get rid of the puke taste, spitting into the bin next to her. She groaned holding herself.

“Feels Like I was hit by a truck.” She joked to him, laughing weakly. Her hair had bit’s coming out, he knew not to touch her hair unless she allowed him to, she allowed her hair to grow long then ceremoniously she cut it when she knew it was time.

“Well I can imagine.” He says, she looked up at him.

“Bob..I’m sorry..I should have been on guard..you were just trying to help me and I just.” She stuttered out, he shook his head. He placed his hand on her’s. “Stop-it wasn't anyone’s fault, and definitely not yours, Cam.” He reassures her.

“We both knew they were in the city, and you got hurt trying to help me.” Cami countied, he shook his head. “I should have fu- I should have just stayed.” She mumbled.

“You didn't, and you didn't leave me behind either.” Bob reminds her, his voice soft with reassurance. “You fought like hell.”

“And would do the same for you in a heartbeat.” He state’s, her heart skipped a beat in her chest, her eye’s darting between his as she relaxed, his hand’s holding her own. She looked down.

“What is it?” He wonder’s, his calloused hand rubbed circle’s on her palm. She took a deep breath building up the courage in herself. “Bob..I uh.” She stop’s. She inhaled again. “I think I’m pregnant.” She revealed, his lips parted as he stared at her.

His heart pounded as his mind began to flood with image’s as thing’s finally added up. Cami looked at his concern, the color left his face as he just stared up at her in shock and confusion.

“Are…are you sure?” He mumbled, she shrugged her shoulders unsure. “I think so, I mean look at the signs right?” She chuckled, he blinked, running his fingers through his hair. “You're not..mad are you?” Camile asked, her heart dropped to her stomach at the thought of him leaving. He shook his head as his mouth began to form a smile. He placed his hand on her shoulders.

“No No I'm not mad, I could not be mad at that.” He gushed excited, he laughed as he brought her into a hug. He vibrated against his shoulder as he crushed her in a bear hugger. Cami smiled against him as he slowly rocked her back and forth.

“Please tell me this is actually happening, please.” He pleaded with her, his hand shaking against her back. She chuckled, nodding into his shoulders.

“Cam, that's amazing.” He gushed.

“It’s all real I swear.” She gushed. He pulled away from her, wiping away the tears that stained his cheek. “Oh don't cry.”

“I’m not–I just can't help it.” Bob tell’s her, she shakes her head as she leaned forward, pulling by his cheek, inhaling deeply as she kissed him. His free hand caressed her waist, his thumb grazing over stomach. She pulled away as she embraced him once more, the sunlight illuminates their shadows onto the hardwood floor.

TAGGED: @sorchathered @fairyheart @mamsieur @sugarcoated-lame @sebsxphia

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paperstarwriters · 6 months

Note

Hello hope your day is amazing

I was wondering if you could write a Muriel x florist reader where when Muriel is making his once in awhile trip into vesuvia he goes past the readers shop and she gives him tulips because he looks sad and he takes them but after he's gone they forget him obv but the next time he comes into town it happens again and again until he finally gives the reader myrrh and then they remember all those times and get really embarrassed

My first request!!! Wow!!! Now technically I haven’t had any explicit availability on requests because of classes but, well I may just open them up now! (Of course though not all requests will end up this long 😅)

Also, I just wanna mention, that when I first got this request my day had been a little bit of a mess but this certainly brightened it thanks so much!! 💕💕💕💕

By the way, Anon, I am SO sorry I took so long to write this. It ended up getting really long and then I ended up deleting everything and rewriting everything because I thought it could’ve been better lol—Not an excuse, but I kinda wanna be transparent about these things because it helps me acknowledge that no, I did not magically make a perfect fanfic on my first go, and other authors do not make perfect fanfics in one go.

Also I understand that this has since been requested to someone else now too because I was taking so long, and I really don’t mind, though I feel kinda bad to have been so slow. Unfortunately life just tends to interfere and all that.

Anyways,

A Flower a Day Keeps The Lonely At Bay

Pairing: Muriel x Flowershop!Reader

Warnings: Lack of communication (ie. Muriel being shy), awful & rich customers, who pay the cops to chase you down, Reader also Swears. Summary: A flower a day keeps the lonely at bay, but two to three more, and I’m here at your door, ever waiting, ever waiting, never sure never sure.

Muriel finds himself making visits outside of his hut a little more frequently than usual, accumulating a small bouquet of flowers made larger by a few flowers at a time with every trip he makes to the market.

The only issue is, he hasn’t exactly paid for these.

Masterlists | The Arcana Masterlist

Word Count: 14, 181

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Muriel watched as red washed down from the coliseum stands.

He should be grateful. The sight should uplift him—should release that tension tied deep in his chest. It should fill his chest with something other than dread.

After all, for once, it wasn’t blood.

Red roses drip down from above, their petals peeling away from the bright blooming flowers, cut in the peak of their beauty fluttering in the wind, catching in the sunlight, and falling onto the hot arena sands, still yellow, still free from blood, now stained with a new shade of red. The audience cheers instead of screams, clapping instead of booing. They throw flowers instead of stones.

All for his opponent.

A foreign fighter from a kingdom not too far away, his opponent bathed with open arms in the rain of flowers and roses, smiling and waving at the people above who cheered and wailed their name in rapt awe and delight.

If he were sitting in the stands, watching the battle from afar, he’s certain he would see how clunky and awkward he had been fighting. Lucio had told him that unlike his usual “criminal” opponents he was not to kill the foreign fighter lest he piss off the other kingdom, and wile he wasn’t sure exactly when Lucio had grown so conscious of other people’s feelings, Muriel had been grateful for the chance not to kill his opponent.

It was naïve of him to assume it was something he could simply stop doing.

With every swing of his massive axe, made to cleave heads from their shoulders, Muriel found himself faltering. With every attack, he wondered if this was the swing that would kill his opponent, if this was the swing that would start a war between kingdoms. His opponent, who had no such qualms, was able to slowly whittle away at his defenses until they knocked him to the sand and pressed a dagger to his throat.

When Muriel was shuffled out of the coliseum to be slotted away into the cold cell they called his room, he watched as the other fighter received a glory he never saw for himself. Armfuls of gifts, boxes of food or sweets, letters sealed with hearts and given with bright grins on their faces, and armfuls upon armfuls of flowers. Sitting in his cell, Muriel watched as his opponent passed by with many servants in tow, all needing to be led by Lucio, as they couldn’t see past the heaps of flowers that crowded their arms.

A flower slipped past someone’s grasp, drifting it’s way into his room. It was rose-like in it’s colour. A deep crimson hue, although the shape of it was a far cry from a rose. He could hope that it was something precious and expensive, from some bouquet of foreign flowers, but Muriel couldn’t help but doubt. Perhaps it was something cheaper, something carelessly held and carelessly dropped into the cell of this careless fighter. Its a thing to be admired regardless, something pretty and colourful to enter his drab cell. He plucks it off of the floor, to cradle it’s delicate petals appreciate the soft, sweet smell of it.

Something sweet something soft, and colourful and kind.

It’s not something that would last very long with him.

Lucio returns past him a few moments later, having led the servants to whatever lavish room he had prepared for the foreigner and their followers. The red flower dropped against the hallway floors catches his eye, and with two golden talons he plucks it from the floor, smiling as he appreciates it’s delicate, feeble beauty. He continues down the hall, not even sparing Muriel a glance, as his footsteps crack against the stone floors.

He’ll throw it away the moment he gets outside perhaps, or maybe even sooner than that. Or maybe, just maybe he’ll get some small little cup and let the flower live just a little longer. It’s doubtful though, considering how easy it would be for someone like him to get more flowers. People gift him things all the time, and whatever he doesn’t receive as a gift, it would be simple for him to purchase himself.

Muriel never received gifts in his life as a gladiator.

After all he’s done, he didn’t deserve them.

He did not deserve flowers.

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Muriel pulled his basket closer towards himself, shifting the strap that attached it to his back to rest more comfortably on his shoulder. Although he initially refused the offer, he’s grateful for Asra’s insistence, and even more grateful for the gift. It’s practical. With it, he can carry so much more materials than he ever had before. Flour, rice, fruits, he can place it all in his basket and leave his hands free to purchase smaller things, like bread or berries or herbs, or whatever else he might need. Most importantly, being able to carry so much at once, Muriel can limit his trips into the market as a once in a month or two journey.

Sure, the basket made him look bigger, only drawing more attention to his broad looming frame, and sure, perhaps it was a bit heavy to carry so much groceries all in one go, but if it meant he’d only have to endure the bustle and crowds of the market less, it was certainly a sacrifice he was willing and ready to make. Even the longer journey the basket imposed on him—since it would not fit into the smaller alleyways—was made more tolerable knowing that he would not have to return for a while.

It’s his saving grace amidst the crush of people yelling and hawking their wares, the inconsiderately placed shops of medicine right beside shops of food where delicious scents make the dizzying medicine smell stronger. The push and shove of impatient customers—all of it is made just a little more tolerable knowing it’d be over soon.

Soon. He assures himself. Just a little further, then I’m out of the market. Just past these next few shops, just a little more…

A blur of bright colours catch his eye. Though it was hardly enough to stop him from walking, he slowed at the sight, unable to help but stare at the little shop squished between and behind a few other stalls. For some other shops perhaps the size would be moderate enough, if only a little squishy to sit inside, but for that shop in particular, it seemed downright tiny, dwarfed by the flowers that seemed to burst from any and every opening it could get, starved for space and sunlight, and with the vivid colours and unruly growth—starved for attention.

He didn’t mean to stop in place, but he couldn’t help but stare at all the pretty flowers before him. Butterflies twitched from where they sat atop flowers, and bees bumbled lazily from flower to flower, all delighted at the sheer variety they had before them to enjoy. Like the many insects around him, Muriel found himself drawn into the little alcove the shop provided, drowned in the flowers and their soft and tender scents.

Setting his basket aside, Muriel let himself breathe. The crush and bustle of the crowds were still there, but a panel from another shop blocked him from their view. An alcove large enough for him to hide him—he never thought he’d find a place like that.

“Hello?”

The voice was by no means loud. It was a far, far cry from anything accusatory or cruel, and yet still, Muriel can’t help the urge to leap up in place and run, the thin branch of flowers reaching over his head, serving as the only thing to stop him from doing so. Careless movement could damage the pretty little things, and even if it would sting, damaging the beauty of something seemingly so abandoned, he’d hate to have to deal with the ire of the shopkeep should he damage their precious merchandise.

—Should he damage your precious merchandise.

Wearing mud-smeared clothing and a pair of gloves, it was clear you were the caregiver of these flowers and therefore, the owner of the shop.

Maybe he should have noticed it sooner—seen the vibrant colours and assumed nothing that bright and big could grow naturally, or maybe he should have looked closer to those openings and noted how clean the curtains of the window—the very one you now leaned out from—were.

“I’m sorry.” he mutters, scrambling to get his things while still taking care not to damage the flowers of your shop.

“No, no. It’s okay,” you tell him, smiling a little as you watch him pick up his basket once more. “You don’t have to go, I’m not gonna kick you out.”

“I’m out of money,” he blurts out in reply.

While technically a lie, there is some semblance of truth in it too. He’s already spent his limit of what he set out to buy today, and he really didn’t want to buy any more, just in case he needed the money for something else more important.

“That’s fine you don’t have to buy anything. It’s a nice place to relax here.”

Muriel nodded, but knowing he’s long since outstayed his welcome, he turns instead, fully ready to leave and let you forget. Hopefully he wouldn’t need to come by this side of the market place again any time soon.

“Hey! Wait!”

Oh no.

What did you want now? Did he break something? He might’ve hit or damaged some of those flowers with the basket, maybe it wasn’t a good idea to accept Asra’s gift. It made it so much harder to not bump into things. Automatically, he reaches for his pockets prepared to out himself for his earlier lie rather than have to deal with the accusations and demands for damaging merchandise.

Instead, he finds the flowers still intact, and a new one, bright yellow, and mere inches from his face.

“Here,” you say with a smile as you lean out—nearly tipping yourself out—form your shop’s little window. “Take it. Just a little something to brighten your day.”

It’s a simple little flower, with yellow petals like the sunshine that dappled through your flowers and their leaves.

He hesitates, unsure of whether or not to receive your little gift, what your ulterior motives might be, or what he needed to do for this gift, but you had been insistent, slipping the flower into his half open hand before he has a chance to back out. Satisfied with your gift, you smile with a brightness that matches the flower you’ve given him, warm like spring sunshine.

Despite the abruptness of the gift, he manages a small smile, nodding a little in thanks before he promptly turns to leave and finally be out of the market.

The simple yellow flower, with little else it could go, remained in his hand held to his chest as he weaved in between other market-goers. Listening for the sounds of shouting and screaming that never made it’s way to his ears. It’s not like you would remember. It’s not like you would even know.

Technically speaking, he didn’t have to keep it. Honestly, it’s probably nothing more than a ploy to get him to return and actually buy something from your shop, and it’s not like you’d remember him to ask what he’s done with the flower. Not like he could do anything with it anyways. Unlike Asra’s gift, it’s impractical, and Muriel finds himself wondering what you even expected him to do with it.

His fingers trail along the velveteen petals as he walks, appreciating the faint but pleasant smell that sits at the flower’s center. Whatever beauty he finds in it now is fleeting. It won’t last very long, especially since he has no vase to put it in.

It’s just a flower. He has no obligation to keep it.

It’s not like you would remember anyways.

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Shrugging the basket off his shoulders, Muriel makes quick work of putting away the items he’s bought. The bread flour gets tucked into the bottom shelf of the alcove of food he keeps in the house, and the fruits go in a bowl a little higher than that. Finally the bread is placed and covered in it’s own little box. Inanna runs around him welcoming home as he trundles around setting everything into it’s place, tail wagging like a dog. Even as she jumps up on her hind legs to greet him, she's just as careful as he is not to bump into his table, lest the cup at it’s center fall over and spill the yellow tulip it cradles onto the floor.

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Muriel returned to the market a bitter few days later. The basket had made him eager on his last trip, urging him to get everything done and over with so he wouldn't have to be there long, but he had forgotten that the chicken feed needed some extra restocking with the rain season lurking just around the corner. Muriel wasn't technically responsible for Bok-Bok and her friends. They could easily care for themselves as they, and all other chickens scattered in the forest, have been doing long before he had arrived. As a neighbor who occasionally borrowed eggs, however, Muriel had an obligation to lend a helping hand, and he knew full well how difficult the rainy season made it to find berries and seeds. There were of course plenty of worms, but robins and crows were quick to snatch those things up and some days there was just too much water for even the worms to enjoy. In those moments Bok-Bok and company would really need his help, and he was not about to let them down.

He hauls two bags of chicken feed in his basket, the bite of the straps onto his shoulders almost as bad as the bite of the cost into his limited pouch of coins. Technically he’d only really need one bag, but seeing as chicken feed was edible, Muriel was hoping to use at least some of it for his own meal within the coming days. There’d still be plenty for Bok-Bok and the others, but this would make things easier on him for a while as well.

The feed shifts side to side with every step he takes, the shift in weight feels almost hypnotizing, as he walks. It’s an imperfect distraction from the typical sounds and smells and feeling of the marketplace, but it’s a distraction nonetheless. People continue to press against him, and he feels the grains shift to his left. People continue to chatter and talk, the sound of it layered thickly over the sound of crashes and movement and moving creaky objects, and he feels the grains of the bag shift to his right. That awful smell of medicine entwined with fresh bread and he feels—

“Hey!! You!!”

Muriel freezes in place. When his head snaps to the sound of the scream, the rest of his body is already preparing to run away. And yet, when he sees that familiar face—your familiar face—he finds himself unable to move

For the second time within the few weeks he’s been here, he meets your eyes, and your own grow wide.

As if you recognized him.

Just as quickly it appears, it vanishes and you continue to yell.

“Watch your step!” you yell and point to a little spool of ribbon, sitting just where he would have stepped.

Muriel allows himself to relax, following your gaze downwards, taking a step backwards rather than forwards to find a spool of golden ribbon, lined with green that sat just beneath his feet. He’s about to apologize for almost crushing it when you promptly continue.

“I’m sorry, but yeah could you get that? I don’t want someone to step on it and trip like you almost did”

He nods as he bends over, freezing momentarily to shuck off the basket on his back when he feels the grains of feed slip forward. Taking the little spool in hand, he ducks back into the little alcove where your shop resides and hands it back to you, promptly rewarded with a smile flashed his way.

His face warms at the attention, but he doesn’t find it all too bad.

“Thank you. Oh, and here! As thanks.” You pull from behind you another flower—another tulip. It’s orange this time, tinted yellow around the edges. It’s the colour of a sunset, or his warm fireplace at night—the colour of even warmer smiles.

Although he hesitates, he takes this flower as well, bringing it to his nose to drown out the smell of medicine and food swirling together unpleasantly just a few stalls down.

It works better than the rice of his basket had managed at least.

Muriel manages a nod and soft grunt as thanks, trying to avoid the bright smile on your face as he slings his basket back onto his shoulders and trundles off once more. Another flower held carefully between his fingers.

He knows he doesn’t have to take it or keep it.

He knows he still will anyways.

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Asra visits a day or two later, and grins when Muriel is unable to give them their own cup for tea, especially since it was the one cup they had purchased themself. Still, they grin, and even snicker, as if unaware of the turmoil that brews at his inability to be a good friend and give them what’s theirs. Instead, they only fuel the fire of his anxiety and coyly remark that he should get another cup for whoever had given him his tiny bouquet of flowers.

It’s only then that Muriel realizes he could have, and should have argued back.

He still tries, though he knows it’s too late for that.

“How do you know I didn’t pick them myself?”

“Because you don’t tend to pick flowers for yourself,” Asra replies easily, grinning happy and easy, with that familiar glow of mischief in their eyes. “You should make a vase for them. It’d look nice, I think.”

Muriel can feel his face grow hot as he hesitates to refute Asra’s offer, which only makes their grin grow wider and wider in reply. Eventually he sighs, and though he doesn’t make any direct confirmation or denial, Asra laughs, knowing full well what that sigh entailed.

Despite it all, Muriel found himself smiling too.

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Muriel wanders through the marketplace a mere two days since his last visit. He’s without his basket, as he has been for the last handful of times he’s been there, but the journey is still overbearing. Visiting so often within such a short amount of time was quickly giving him a painful headache, and the temptation to just buy some spiced bread or some other delicious smelling food, to drown out the worst of the busy, busy, world around him, was only trumped by the fact that he did not bring any money with him.

Lately, on his last few trips to the marketplace, he neglected to bring any coins, knowing it’d be better for him to focus on saving up for when he really needed the money. Technically he didn’t need the money that much, being fully capable of living off of the forest, but difficult times such as the upcoming rainy season was made much easier when he could just buy the things he needed. For now, however, he’s simply content to wander through the marketplace and shop for inspiration; his only payment being his time, and the need to be there in the first place.

Carving a vase is easy. It should be easy, compared to the other things he’s carved. it’s a pretty simple wooden thing practically a deeper, wider cup with a little flare at the top like a plate. That was something he could carve, but he recalled seeing other vases around the marketplace, and despite himself, curiosity got the better of him and he stopped by to look at the vases other people had made. He’s been returning pretty often much to his dismay, as he kept on realizing or remembering the design of a vase he had only glimpsed at when he returned to the hut. Not to mention how his initial design might not even work anymore.

With every visit he’s made to the marketplace, he passed by or took shelter by your little flower shop on the way back home, and every time without fail, you called out to him. Even on days where he forgot to try and stop by, where he, fully engrossed in some other thing, or the dizzying feeling of the crowd around him, you still called out to him, with some excuse or other for you to offer him a flower. Some days he got a single tulip. Other times he’s received up to three different blooms. He gets a different flower each time, and each time he has to add the flower to his rapidly filling makeshift vase. It’s no longer a cup, but a rather sorry chunk of wood with a hole down the middle and water at the bottom. So busy with his visits to the market, he hadn’t had the time to really work on it.

If he was being truthful, he had been trying to avoid the task. What could he carve that could adequately hold such pretty flowers that you’ve given him? It’s the first bouquet he’s ever received, he wants to make something fitting for your gifts.

With how consistently you give him flowers, Muriel can’t help but forget that you don’t even remember him. He can’t help but forget you don’t really even know him. Not in the way that he knows you. Even if he knows you in sporadic fragments, he still knows you more than you know him.

Perhaps it’s made him cocky. Overconfident in his understanding of you.

Perhaps that’s why he didn’t expect to see you like this.

You are the sun, radiant and bright for your flowers, providing them warmth, providing them light before you give them away to others to illuminate their day or the day of whoever is lucky enough to receive that gift.

Somehow, he never anticipated the fact that maybe the sun couldn’t always be shining.

“I AM NOT PAYING THIS MUCH FOR THIS STUPID SHIT!!!”

Eyes shift away from Muriel towards the loud argument of some overzealous self-entitled noble who failed to recognize that the world doesn’t revolve around them. Selfishly, Muriel finds relief at the distraction bathing in how for once, in the crowd he was not the spectacle to be stared at instead it was—

Oh.

You stand under the barrage of cruelty raised against you and smile. It falters, it twists, but you do your best to maintain your smile, to appease your audience, someone who clearly did not deserve your grace.

“With the amount of money you had outlined—”

“YOU ARE LITERALLY JUST PICKING FLOWERS—CHILDREN COULD DO THAT!! WHY SHOULD I PAY SO MUCH FOR SOME DAISES YOU PICKED?!”

The stranger’s hand slammed on the small windowsill that you usually leaned on rattling the worn material below it. Bees and butterflies fled from their refuge in your flowers and even some weaker flowers toppled over under the stress. Even if he could not see it for himself, Muriel could tell you were trembling, every flower that so much as brushed against you vibrated in place, your fear bleeding into them, as you tried your best to smile despite it all.

If not for the flowers, he’d believe it too.

“WERE YOU NOT LISTENING WHEN I TOLD YOU THAT THESE WERE FOR AN IMPORTANT EVENT?!? YOU SHOULD BE GRATEFUL THAT I’M EVEN BUYING FROM YOUR PATHETIC LITTLE SHOP!!! IF YOU DON’T GIVE ME SOME BETTER FLOWERS I WILL—”

It’s hard to tell what compels him more, the barely restrained discomfort that you radiate, or the bitter anger that only rises with every wretched word that comes out from the noble’s poor excuse for a mouth. If he were a better person, perhaps he’d go to you first, but just like with any fight, it was foolish of him to assume violence was something he could simply stop doing.

It always came back to him one way or another.

He strode, unthinkingly with every intention to just get rid of the unpleasant nobleman. Whether he was going to punch them, shove them aside and away from you, or simply pick them up and throw them into the nearest canal, Muriel would never know, because thankfully the noble was more cowardly than they had seemed.

All it took was for him to stand behind them, his shadow swallowing them whole as he glared them down before they were scrambling backwards and sputtering threats about money and guards. A hard threat to follow through on considering the stranger won’t even remember him the next day.

He’s tempted to follow the noble as they run. Tempted to chase them down and force them to never do it again. To show them how strong they really were in the face of a cruel world. Greedy wretches like them wouldn’t survive a day in the coliseum.

But would he really be able to stomach dragging them there?

Red flickers in the corner of his eyes, and Muriel instinctively turns, bracing for the sight of blood. Instead he finds flowers, and you flinching with wide terrified eyes, and a smile barely there on your twisted lips.

“Hello,” you say, flatly, only loosely coloured with a false cheer, just barely covering your trembling voice.

“…Hi.” He manages to mutter back. “Are you…okay?”

You relax a little, no longer afraid, but a look of hurt still lingers in your expression, and Muriel doesn’t know if or how he should try to help. Still, you manage to nod, and smile, however sad it may be.

“I’m fine,” you sigh in a way that always preludes a “but”. “It’s just that, he still didn’t pay for the bouquet.”

You gesture to the bundle of flowers a beautiful splash of red all clustered beautifully together. There are a litany of different shades of red and even a few other colours amidst the bunch, each complimenting the other, looking much less like the chaotic spatter that he still had at home. He could see roses amidst the bunch, de-thorned and coloured in hues he’s never seen before. Taller more spindly flowers sit amidst the bunch as well, though he’s unable to tell them by their names unsure if they are true in colour or made to look similar to the rest through whatever magic you were using.

Despite it’s beauty, you glare at it, as if you hoped it could shrivel up and die.

“I used so many flowers for that thing, what am I supposed to do with it now?” another grumble escapes you, sounding almost like a bitter growl. He flinches when you grab a flower and it’s pot, something set out as a display, and snatch it into the confines of your shop. He almost expects to hear the pot shatter, but your hands snap back out to grab another without so much of a whisper of the first pot being set down.

“Don’t you give some of your flowers out for free?” Muriel blurts out, regretting the question as soon as he asked it. Did it sound suspicious? Insulting?

“Those are special situations,” you snap back. “Besides, I do NOT give full bouquets out for free. That shit is expensive you know?! I put a lot of time and effort into them!”

Muriel nods, but he doesn’t think you see, as you carefully yank another bundle of flowers back into your shop, angry footsteps making the remaining blooms tremble from the force of it.

“I put all my hard time and effort growing these flowers! Contrary to popular belief I am NOT just running around in a meadow, picking out little flowers to take back home and sell for cheap! I grow these things myself! I colour them! I mix them together! I’m not some nobleman with access to flower farms and flower farmers!!”

Muriel busies himself by picking up the flowers you have further out for display, and bringing them back towards your shop. He doesn’t know where the door is, burred under flowers and greenery somewhere, but he tucks the display into the nook where he had hid many times before, keeping the flowers from prying eyes and greedy hands.

It’s the only thing keeping him in place really. As you continue to stomp back and forth in your shop, ranting about rich customers trying to cheat their way out of paying for your flowers. Even if he knows it’s not directed his way, Muriel can’t help but feel a growing sense of guilt.

He did that too. He’s doing that right now.

You don’t remember it, and to you it probably seems like you’ve been giving various different strangers tulips, but he has a bouquet of them now—one even bigger than that noble failed to pay for.

He carefully tucks the last of the flower displays away, carefully arranging the flowers so that none stick out and reveal their location to onlookers, and prepares to run away, internally promising to never return and never steal flowers from you again.

What he intends as a final glance your way, hoping to leave while your back is turned, roots him in place instead.

You stand, hands over your eyes, furiously scrubbing as you try to both hide and stop your tears. Torn between running to help you and running away, Muriel stands and stares, as useless to help as the flowers that still surround you.

“I just… fuck,” you hiss, or at least you try to around the hiccups of your sobbing. “It’s just so hard. They demand money from me and then refuse to pay me for my hard fuckng work! What do they even get out of hoarding that much money?”

Why can’t he decide? The choice to help you is as obvious as it was when you were being threatened by the nobleman earlier. And yet, when faced with a problem that he can’t solve with violence he’s stuck.

It really is all he’s good for isn’t it?

You duck behind your window to hide your tears, but he can hear your back hit the wall and the hiss of fabric against stone as you slide down to your knees and succumb to sniffles and sobs.

With little else to say or do, Muriel turns and runs away.

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A moment of terror pulls you from your sorrow as you remember the flower stands you left outside the shop. You’ve already lost a lot of time and effort on the bouquet for the noble who never paid, you can’t afford to loose your display flowers as well.

About to bolt out from the shop to look for them, you glance to the shops beside you wondering if your neighbors decided to be cruel, or if you could see the escaping thief. Instead, you find your flower stands tucked away in a little alcove between your shop and one of the neighboring booths beside it. The flowers are carefully tucked beneath each other, to keep from springing up over the other shop’s crates, and remain hidden from any potential thieves.

It’s not anything grand enough to make you reconsider opening the shop back up for the day, nor does it quell the roll of anxiety in your chest, but it’s enough to make you smile again. Even if only a little.

It takes you a moment to recall that a stranger had been here only moments ago after the departure of the nobleman, but beyond their presence you can’t recall anything about them. You know they helped a little, but the how or why evades you.

Instead you return to work tucking your flowers away inside, before you finally close shop and head back to your garden.

You can’t recall what the stranger’s face looks like, but the fleeting memory of them still lingers in your mind. They remind you, strangely, of tulips.

Perhaps you could give them one next time you saw them. Hopefully you’d recognize them in the crowd.

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Muriel’s fingers sift through the flowers that sit in his little wooden makeshift vase. In a better world he’d be able to give back all the flowers he had taken from you—stolen from you—and you would be able to sell your flowers to people who could pay for and better deserved the beautiful blooms. Instead, Muriel finds many of the flowers already starting to wilt in the vase, petals growing crumpled and stems growing weak. The first flower you had given him was a husk of it’s former beauty.

He shouldn’t have gotten it in the first place. That fleeting beauty would have been better spent on someone better than him. Someone who could appreciate it better with a crystal vase—or even a simple painted clay vase to carry the flowers and show off how pretty they were.

Or just…someone with more money than him. Someone who could actually pay you for your flowers.

Someone…. Someone who would deserve them.

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Once more, Muriel makes his journey into the market, the dizzying smells and feelings and noises made all the more worse by the burden of his objective. Two pouches sat in his pockets both burning through fabric and skin to scorch him to his bones. Every passing jostle against his body had him scrambling to check if both bags were still there, panic flooding him when he forgot that he had moved one of the bags from one pocket to another.

Over and over again scenarios flashed through his mind. He tried to keep himself reasonable, tried to expect the worst so he wouldn’t be disappointed, but hope—ever stubborn, and ever cruel—slipped in regardless of his wishes. He hoped that you’d still like him afterwards, that you wouldn’t ask him to pay for all the flowers he had taken from you, that you’d be happy to be able to remember him, but the truth of the matter was, that he was just another customer. All he had been receiving was a placating smile in hopes that he’d buy from you.

If only he could hate you for that. It’d be so much easier if he could let himself feel like he had been cheated, or wronged, but you were just trying to make money for yourself, just like everyone else. Could he condemn you for that?

The sickening smell of some strong smelling meal with pungent medicine fills his chest once more, and the once familiar need to vomit at the smell grows stronger knowing your shop is only a little further away. His hands gravitate towards the two pouches in his pockets and he squeezes them, hoping that for once the universe would be kind to him and he wouldn’t make some awful mistake like mix them up and give you the wrong bag too soon.

With every step closer he gets to your shop, Muriel recites in his mind what he wants to tell you, his apology for what he’s done and his willingness to not bother you again.

Someone else is already shopping at your booth. Muriel watches from nearby, trying to remember what he needs to tell you while he waits his turn.

“If you don’t mind, I need a few flowers, not too many…”

He just needed to tell you that he was willing to leave you be.

“How many flowers will that be? Oh, and what kind?”

No, no, he needed to apologize first for taking all of your flowers.

“Any kind will do. I just need them for a… friend of mine. They’re ill, and I... I made a promise to them.”

He’d need to explain what had happened as well. Explain how he kept receiving flowers from you, and explain how he’d need to pay for it.

“Oh, I hope they’ll be okay soon, how about this?”

“Oh that looks gorgeous!”

He’d need to tell you about that magic, that kept others from remembering him, and he’d need to….

“…oh, I can’t… I’m sorry, I can’t pay that much.”

“…how much can you pay?”

Muriel watches the old man place a few coins onto the table. It really isn’t much, but telling by the clothes he wears and the stains that litter them, it’s clear that he’s been trying to save up for this. Your own eyes, grow dim at the sight of the meager amount he brings. Would it even pay for a few flowers? Would it even pay for a single flower?

Your eyes flutter closed and your hands grip the flowers as if you were going to yell at the old man, but you’re trembling as well, fighting against something before you look back up and smile.

No. No, no. You can’t be thinking—gossip travels fast in the marketplace, even faster when it’s something of concern or interest to a noble. If that person gets word that you’re giving out free flowers after that stunt you pulled yesterday…

“Alright. Take it.”

…What will happen to you?

“No—wait.” Muriel steps in, his own coin pouch in his trembling hands. “that…how much does that cost?”

It’s a smaller bouquet than what you’ve given him over his many many visits, but he still winces as you take the money. He’s now the one without enough funds to pay you back for your flowers. He’s now the one marring your reputation—making it seem like your prices are something fickle, that someone could just get a bouquet of tulips for free if they looked sad or sorry enough.

Was that why he had gotten all those flowers? You did say some were to brighten his day. Did he truly look so miserable?

The old man smiles up at him, and thanks him profusely as he leaves with his flowers. Muriel manages a smile, but a nagging feeling at the back of his head tells him it looks more like a grimace. When he turns back to look at you, you meet his half-smile half grimace with one of your own.

“Thank you so, so much for that—but you didn’t have to.”

“But yesterday—I saw—heard—” Muriel coughs, fighting the rising warmth in his face. “I heard about that… customer…yesterday. I just.... Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” You smile, eyes falling closed as you recall something before you look up to him. “Yesterday, a kind stranger stepped in to protect me. It was…really sweet.”

Muriel forces himself to turn away from your fond expression. For all the preparation that he put in anticipating what he should do when you hate him, he never prepared for what he should do if you liked him.

While your attention is diverted, Muriel begins his attempt to scurry away from the situation before it grows too awkward, but not for the first time, you call out to him, stopping him dead in his tracks.

“Before you go!” Once more he stops and turns. He knows his face is flushed, he know he looks ridiculous, but he turns out of habit to the sound of your voice, like a sunflower to the sun. “—here. Just as thanks.”

Muriel stares at the flower you give him his mind flying back to a small cell beneath a roaring crowd. A rose coloured tulip, the likes of which he’s never seen before, sits in his palm as another gift from you. He’s never seen a tulip this red before. Brighter than the colour of blood.

He tries to hand it back, but your hands sit atop of his and push back, insistent on giving your gift.

You smile when you tell him, “Please, it’s a gift.” But he feels nothing but dread.

Another flower stolen, another bloom he can no longer afford to pay for.

He does not deserve flowers.

He certainly did not deserve yours.

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Muriel doesn’t return to the market. He doesn’t—won’t—need to for a while. The basket Asra had given him really lived up to it’s practical uses. He savors the fresh cool air of the forest, untainted by headache-inducing smoke billowing from medicine shops or blacksmiths or bakeries of sleepy bakers. The hiss and hush of the trees, sounds soothing to his ears rather than the cacophony of chatter, of yelling and demanding from sellers and buyers.

He feels alive and safe in the forest.

At least, more than he had felt when he was in the city—when he was just a child.

A lifetime of struggling for money and food and running from guards called by over zealous nobles was not something that he expected would every leave him. In the same way the blood may never wash from his hands, the dirt and disgust he carried for being one of many strays in the South End would never leave him either. It’s something he could live with though. Something he could endure within the safety of the forest.

…He just never thought he’d be the one causing someone to struggle the way he did.

It’s not the same. He knows that it’s not the same. You have a shop that you are able to maintain—a viable way to make money. With all your flowers, you probably had a garden, you probably had the ability to grow fruits and vegetables that you could eat and rely on when times got tough. And most of all, you are an adult. You can fend for yourself, act for yourself. You don’t need help the way a child does. You can survive.

…but sometimes just surviving just made things worse.

He just made things worse.

What if you were struggling for food? What if you wouldn’t be able to maintain that shop for much longer? What if all those flowers you gave him were what lead that noble to think it was okay to get flowers from you for cheap?

Even if he couldn’t be remembered perhaps people remembered seeing you give flowers away for free to someone over and over again. A free flower every now and then would hardly be anything bad but Muriel had enough to consider it a bouquet.

He had to pay you back.

It might take some time, but hopefully his carvings were appraised better than they were when he was a child. Hopefully more people liked them. Hopefully he could make enough money to pay you back soon.

Wooden animals sit between Muriel’s legs as he carved away at another figurine from a block of wood. It was a little sloppy, as was the other figures, but seeing as he needed to make back the funds at least somewhat quickly, he needed a lot of figures in a short amount of time.

The knife slipped against the wood, and cut into his hand. Deep enough to draw blood, but not deep enough to garner worrry. Not for his hand at least. Blood stained the wood he carved, tainting the wooden flower with a bloody patch of red, soaking into the wood.

Muriel sighed, as the blood seeped deeper and deeper into the pale wood. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to carve the stain away to salvage the flower, he set it aside, and wiped the blood from his hand, and started again against a new block of wood.

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For all Muriel had planned and worried the location and use of a stall was not one of the things he had considered. The market was filled with vendors all squished against each other in an attempt to sell wares. Any of his old places for selling things as a child were either filled by new children, hawking trinkets and other odds and ends, or far too small for him to fit in and comfortably sell from now.

He tried to wander through the busier parts of the market, even amidst the crash and chatter of people around him, but earlier vendors had beat him to the stalls, and no one was willing to spare any space.

Eventually, though he tried to avoid it, he came down to your side of the market, where there were just a little less shops than before. Even here however there was no space that he could take that wasn’t a crushing squish against two other shops.

The familiarly grating smell of medicine and baked goods wafted past him and instinctually he glanced your way, even if he hoped not to see you and gain another flower he needed to pay back.

Only, you weren’t there at all.

Where there was once a little window surrounded on all sides by flowers that seemed to burst out from the room within, there was instead, a green door. Upon closer inspection a thin line divided the door in half so the top could be opened or the bottom could be opened, and he realized that this had been the window you once leaned out from to sell your flowers.

And now, flowerless it had been closed.

What happened to you? Did the noble come around and confiscate all your flowers for some crime you didn’t commit? Had he been too late to help you? Too late to fix his mistakes?

He didn’t know how long he had spent staring at the blank walls, taking in all the imperfections he had never seen and never wanted to see before, but it was long enough, that someone inevitably noticed him.

“Hello?”

Muriel nearly leapt up from his place and ran, if not for the person he turned to see.

Still smudged with dirt, with flower petals and leaves caught in your clothes, you stood before him, smiling but confused.

“I’m sorry, did you want something from the shop?”

The bag of coins burns in his pockets, both too heavy and too light for him to hold. He scrambles for an explanation, something feasible to explain away the situation, and allow him to go on his way once more, but his mouth dries with every attempt, and the urge to confess his crimes and get it over with builds high in his chest.

In the end, he abandons his words and shakes his head instead.

With an even more confused look on your face, you shake your head almost dismissively, but a smile still lingers on your lips. It reaches your eyes too, drawing lines across your face from the force of it all. He tries to convince himself that it’s genuine, but the doubt is hard to remove once planted.

After all, you always smile to your customers, even if they don’t deserve it.

“What are you doing here then?”

“I… Just…I’m passing by,” he manages, watching as your smile shifts for a moment. It softens, but it never leaves your face.

“Oh. Where are you off to?”

He glanced away, tempted to just give some non commital answer and just leave before you could ask something else, but he catches sight of your empty shop once more and finds his feet rooted in place.

“I…. I was looking for a space to set up a temporary shop.”

“Oh! What are you selling?”

Since it’d be easier than trying to explain, Muriel reaches into his basket, pushing aside the blanket covers to protect against the sun and the wooden support beams he was planning to use to hold the blanket up, to reveal the wooden carvings that sat beneath it all. He grabs the first one he feels pulling it free and offering it for your inspection.

“Oh! That’s so pretty!” He looks at it in your hands now, one of the flowers he had carved from wood. It’s no tulip, but he’s glad you seem to like it at the very least.

“You can keep it if you want.”

“Really?” you ask, your voice wrung with awe sounding almost almost breathless to his ears.

Despite knowing he wouldn’t be able to tell if you were actually pleased or just smiling, Muriel glances your way, finding that soft smile once more on your lips, as your fingers carefully trace around the center of the flower. He turns away from the sight of it.

“Sure.”

“Oh, hey, in exchange, how about…” Muriel braces himself for the flower you’d always give him. No matter how pretty or soft it’s petals looked he would not accept. He couldn’t, knowing that he’d have to add another flower considering how much he’d need to pay for it.

Instead, you gesture to the shop, and smile.

“Here! You said you wanted to look for a stall to sell your things at, you can use my shop.”

And though Muriel knows full well what your shop looks like, for the first time today he turns and actually looks.

Between two stalls sits the little window, where you once leaned out and smiled at him as he passed. Except, with it’s top “shutter” closed, he could now see it was a door, sitting listlessly against the off-white walls. Around it, where flowers once bloomed, cracks in the stone are so abundantly clear. Exposed for all to see without flowers covering the cracks. Sitting lifeless, colourless, and empty, he little shop seemed even smaller, crowded out by other people’s boxes. A hollow husk of what it had been before.

Or, perhaps it was hollow because you weren’t there anymore.

For all the questions he wanted to ask, all the distress and apologies he wanted to offer, all Muriel can stomach to ask, is a pathetic, strangled, “why?”

Why weren’t you using your shop anymore? Why did you remove all your flowers as if you were just moving out? Why were you letting him use that shop?

Why, even when you couldn’t remember him, did you still trust him?

Why were you kind to him?

Why—

Muriel turns to the sound before you do, the heavy footsteps of armored soldiers marching with that distinct rattle of their shiny armor that only ever meant they were here on purpose, rather than just on patrol.

You catch sight of them a moment later, the same time that they catch sight of you.

And all Muriel can do is stare.

It’s funny really, how, in the past it had almost been second nature for him to run and hide at the sound of clanking armor, grabbing any other children he’d see who had yet to notice lest they get taken by the soldiers seeking to “clean up” the marketplace. But maybe it was all that time he had to spend trying not to flinch and run from the soldiers in the coliseum lest the taunt and tease him while he was helpless to do anything else, or maybe it was the safety net that his gift provided, knowing they could never come for him.

It doesn’t matter anyways. He’s rooted to the ground, helpless to do anything to help you.

A familiar face grins behind their armored friends, looking as pleased as they looked punchable, as if tattling to the soldiers about whatever offense you didn’t commit was something they could be proud of doing. As if they weren’t just some massive coward hiding behind armor and gold.

As if they were really in the right.

He’d scowl if he could manage, but he feels far away from his body, bracing for cold impact of armored hands against mere flesh. Ready to drag him away somewhere cold and dark and alone. Ready to drag him back to the arena.

Instead, the hand that finds him is warm.

Warm fingers thread themselves between his, and suddenly he’s being pulled through the marketplace, just barely able to grab his bag before he’s running between stalls and down alleyways, as the soldiers clamor and shout clumsily crashing through booths and debris in their pursuit.

The both of you are fast, but the soldiers, trained as they are, are faster, and grow closer and closer as you stumble on each other’s feet trying to stick together. You seem to have a destination in mind, but running home with these soldiers on your tail is never, ever a good idea. You seem to know this, but you don’t seem to know how to loose them.

Muriel on the other hand does.

All it takes is a few strides and a squeeze of your hand before Muriel is leading you through the streets, diving down alleyways, and between shops and their carts, before he shoves you into a small dip between two buildings, crowded with boxes and goods from the stalls that sat on either side, and his basket set in front of him for good measure. The two shopkeepers glared his way, frustrated at his strange intrusion, but they fail to notice that he had someone with him, as they often do if that other person is hidden quickly enough. Though their eyes on him makes his skin prickle, they slide off as easily as water on oil, and soon they return to their own business, forgetting that Muriel had ever even existed as their attention drifts away, and they return to attending to their wares.

The crash of soldiers is audible in the distance, and behind him, hands pressed to his back, Muriel can feel you grow tense. Your hands ball up into fists on his cloak, and you press your face into his back as if it may be able to better help you hide from them. It lets him feel you breathe, trying to keep it slow, and deep, trying to relax yourself, but the tremors remain. It makes him want to hold you, take your hand in his to reassure you, tell you that everything will be okay, but when he still trembles at the growing sound of iron on stone and wood, all he can do is stand still and quiet, hoping to all hope that the shopkeepers beside him would not note his presence and, that what little magic he has won’t fail him,

Above all, if everything else fails, he hopes you remain safe.

Their armor glistens in the sunlight, blindingly bright, a distraction and protection he’s fallen victim to many times before. One turns his way, meeting his eyes, and for a moment, Muriel loses his breath. Behind him you tense as well, as if his tension passed onto you. As if you could somehow see through him, and met the guard’s eyes.

He wonders if you had poked your head out from behind him, wonders if the guard had somehow seen you—a scrap of your clothes perhaps, or some sliver of your skin. He hopes to all hope that you had not done so, but he tries to puff up his chest despite it all, use the width of his shoulders to truly make sure you were covered.

And no matter how much he wants to do otherwise, Muriel keeps his eyes open, and stares down not only the guard before him, but also the group behind him, watching and waiting for that moment of recognition, the moment when the guards eyes stopped slipping away, the moment when he’d have to shove the soldier away to let you escape.

To make sure no one was dragged to the coliseum again.

Someone yells behind the guard, loud and abrasive, and Muriel has to keep himself from flinching at the sound. For another moment the guard lingers, eyes still scanning the area, where Muriel stood, as if he wasn’t there at all, for a mere second perhaps, before they turn away eyes still slipping off of Muriel like water against oil. The soldiers continue on hollering and barking as they chase shadows down the street. It’s only when they fade out from earshot that Muriel finally relaxes, and behind him, he can feel you do the same.

It’s an awkward little shuffle around when he steps away to let you escape your confines. Your hand doesn’t quite leave his back so readily, trailing down before falling away, leaving phantom trails of pressure and warmth still lingering on his skin, even if you never actually touched him directly. He tries to distract himself amidst it, focus on getting his basket back on his back. Focus on the possibility of another patrol of soldiers passing by. He doesn’t notice that you had been waving for his attention until you fingers slip beneath the belts across his chest and you yank.

“Thank you,” you whisper-hiss, freeing his belt to capture his hand instead. “C’mon, follow me. I know a safe place we could lay low for awhile.

Your hand is warm in his. Sweaty from running, but warm, with callouses marking the inside of your knuckles. Your rough hands against his own, and yet cradling his carefully with your touch. In his earlier haste he didn’t get the chance to notice that.

You tug, he follows.

–––––––––✿・✿・✿–––––––––

For all that he’s known you, for all the times he’s visited, all he’s ever seen from you were smiles that bent your eyes with it’s fondness, soft as the flowers that surrounded you and vibrant as the sun that fed them.

But that hardly counted as knowing a person.

For all you had forgotten of him, he never really got to know you.

The city grows more glittery and sharp as you tug him towards the decrepit opulence of the flooded district, right along the edge of the temple district where old temples sat in ruin, flooded with water that bent their floorboards and made space frigid during the night. Yet those flaws hardly stopped children from scurrying into the upper levels through windows, standing in the frigid dust laden rooms, and pretending they had a better life.

He remembers doing the same himself, with vivid fondness, trying and failing to climb up the side of the building after soldiers broke all the available climbing structures, that could support his weight. Asra managed on the tiny ledges, and weak remains, but Muriel and many other children struggled to do the same.

Thick walls of ivy, and even a small tree grows there now, the ground having been cleared of tiles to make space for dirt and mud to allow for the growth.

He turns his attention back to you, as you continue to pull him past buildings, littered with new blooms that climbed the walls.

For all that you had forgotten of him, Muriel barely knew you.

–––––––––✿・✿・✿–––––––––

You stop before a fence that looms even above him, coated in greenery, with sharp, rusted metal spikes that jut out from the top of the bushes.

He can see thorns entwined with the green shrubbery, thin and clustered together to make it hard to avoid getting scratched or hurt by any attempt to climb up it, which perhaps, is why it was an area that seemed so abandoned. Unlike the well-maintained gardens of many nobles, what could a trespasser hope to find behind a fence so clearly bursting with nothing but plain shrubs and wayward thorns?

You, clearly, believed otherwise.

Muriel can’t help but wince when you jam your hand into the mess of thorns and bushes, rummaging around the plants in search for something within. He’s tempted to pull your arm out and try to get you to wear something to protect yourself, but you beat him to it, pulling back for a moment to reveal an untouched arm before you reach back in with more intent and care than you did before.

Something creaks, and the wall of ivy and bushes, reveals itself to be thinner than the foliage initially let on.

He doesn’t even need to slip through the greenery as you do to already glimpse the world within, but he does anyways, treating himself to the true magnificence of your domain. Hidden by plants and trees and bushes and thorns sits a world of flowers blooming en masse until they cover nearly every inch of the ground around it, some even spilling out from their designated places to uproot the stone tiles that made up the slim walkways between the spill of flowers.

Most strikingly, Muriel can see the tulips that line the far end of the garden, a splash of sporadic colours all clumped together in a mad swirl, spilling out from their allotted section to infiltrate pathways and the beds of their neighbors.

And amidst them, finally looking at ease, you stand, turning back to him with a smile.

“I’m sorry about that, but… we’ll be safer here for now.”

You close the door, with a gentle thud, and brush the roses around it back into place, slipping a rust-browned lock back into place, and locking the world outside far, far away.

Perhaps he should be worried that you had essentially locked the both of you inside here together, but despite being overcrowded with flowers, the garden seems so expansive he can hardly see it as being locked inside anything.

“Feel free to look around” you tell him. “Just… don’t pick anything, please.”

You flash him a smile, and as quickly as you had astounded him with the beauty of your garden, you turn away snapping your attention back to your flowers, and give him space to marvel in awe at your beautiful garden—to marvel in awe at your beautiful practice. Setting his basket aside, he watches as you crouch down, and procure a pair of shears from beneath a bush, and begin to snip away at the overgrown and wilted plants. The sun shines a halo around you as you hunch over plots of dirt, shuffling your way into the plants, and trying to pry flowers away from each other, to generate distance so one doesn’t starve the other.

It’s hard work, quick to smear you with dirt and mud, but he can see the tension fade from your back as you toil away, a means of relaxing yourself from the tension.

Though questions swirl around his stomach and chest, Muriel decides to give you your space. It’s the least he can do after all.

He wanders, carefully, between the patches of flowers, many intermingled with each other into beautiful messy arrays, some even curling around each other, to enough of an extent, that Muriel supposed you couldn’t separate them anymore. Of course, slow growing as flowers often were, Muriel wondered if you failed to notice how close they had gotten, or you simply allowed them to grow so close to each other.

He approaches your tulip patch. You have so many. Found in nearly every colour, with different patterns on the petals, and different shapes of petals themselves, all crowded into one large plot—and when that plot could not fit any more flowers, you intermingled the tulips amidst other plants, amidst other flowers that seemed to get along well with the shoots of colour.

Although he has never seen the foreign shaped and patterned flowers before, Muriel can’t help but note the abundance of red, orange, pink, and yellow tulips in your garden. A favourite, perhaps? Or perhaps they were in high demand, or perhaps they were just—

“They used to be my parents' favourite.” He turns to look at you, dirt smeared with leaves sticking to the fabric of your clothes. You turn to him and smile. “They liked to give them to each other, as a way to show how much they cared about each other.”

Something in Muriel’s chest flutters. Something else constricts. He really shouldn’t be hearing this—you don’t remember him, you don’t remember what you’ve done.

“I tend to give them out to my favourite customers as well.” Muriel scrambles for his bag. He shouldn’t be hearing this should he? No matter how much he wants to… he shouldn’t. It’s not fair to you. You don’t remember him, you might not even be harboring those kinds of feelings.

After all didn’t you say the flowers were supposed to just... cheer him up?

“Hey, do you want—” Muriel just barely manages to shove the bag into your hands, pressing further to get the bag closer to your face.

The sooner you remember the sooner you can kick him from your garden and be on your merry way, even though his stomach grows tight at the very idea of it. Your garden is beautiful. If he could stay here, or even just visit every so often he would be glad.

As it is, just seeing you smile was enough for him.

Just seeing you smile had been enough for him, but he’s taken too much from you, and he refused to take any more.

It takes you a moment, flustered as you try to protest the strange gift he’s given you, but the memories come soon enough, and rather than push, he finds you grabbing—not only the bag, but his hand as well—and pulling it closer to your face, to take a deep breath, and savor the memories.

It only lasts so long.

You stare at him now, eyes wide and mortified before your hands snap to your face trying and failing to hide you as you still cling to the bag of myrrh he had given you. Muriel closes his eyes and looks away, not wanting to see your enraged or sorrow filled face when you claimed you had been cheated or swindled of your precious, precious flowers.

Instead he hears you giggle.

It’s a nervous sort of giggle, the kind made when someone’s not actually happy, echoing in the hollow cup of your hand as you sink to the floor.

“Oh my gods. Oh gods.” The words slip between your fingers as you adjust and readjust your hands to hide your face. “Oh my gods I am so sorry.”

“What?”

“I gave you, so many flowers…”

The comment sounds like regret—that you regretted wasting so many flowers on him, but your voice doesn’t sound sad, you just sound… embarrassed.

“I am so sorry…”

“W-what?? What for?”

“Isn’t it embarrassing? I keep giving you flowers!” Your volume picks up, and though he doesn’t intend it, his own voice gets a little higher and a little louder in reply.

“Is that bad??” He really can’t focus on his volume when he’s trying to sort out all the questions you are not answering.

“ITS EMBARRASSING!”

“HOW?!”

You groan, half stifled and half agonized before you bury your face back into your knees, leaving Muriel’s mouth to snap shut with a soft clack, gritting his teeth as he silently vows to never open his mouth again—or at least refrain from doing so for a long while. He was too loud. Too close to yelling. He doesn’t blame you for being afraid.

He’s about to apologize, whisper something placating to fix his wrongdoings, but once again, you speak before he can even get a word in.

Or well, you don’t speak. You laugh.

It’s almost a mad cackle. Almost. If you didn’t peer up for a moment, looking so genuinely happy and pleased, he would have thought you had gone insane.

You’re breathless when your laughter bubbles down into hicuups and giggles, leaning your head on your arms as you peer up at him. Of course, he’s too tall for you to look without craning your neck, and that’s so much worse when you’re sitting down. He sits beside you in an attempt to keep your neck from aching, but that only seems to make you giggle more.

“So, how much to I have to explain?” You ask your question teasingly, but Muriel can’t help but notice the strain of sincerity or the way you shake ever so slightly as if scared. You’re still grinning, but he can’t help but take you seriously.

“It…. You spend so much time on your flowers…. Don’t you need the money?”

His question sobers you considerably, that smile falling away from your face. Again, he’s the one who has to tear that from you, who makes you frown instead of smile.

“I can afford to lose a few tulips.”

“It’s not a few.”

You huff, turning away from him, and again, he worries that he’s made you upset. “It’s fine. I have a lot of those ones anyways. Besides, it’s not like I give them out to everyone.”

“You don’t?”

“Nope.”

“What about that old man? You wanted to give those flowers to him for free…”

You roll your eyes, and shake your head a picture of exhaustion, if not for your smile. “Yeah, well, he’s a pretty common customer, and he’s a fellow merchant. I stop by his stall sometimes and I know he doesn’t always have much, but he still wants to give flowers to his friend and all that.” You turn away from him then, tucking your face back into your knees. “Besides, I wasn’t giving him tulips.”

His brows dip again, “Tulips…?”

You sigh, loud and drawn out, tucking your face deeper into your lap. “I… remember how I mentioned my parents?”

“I… I didn’t think I was supposed to hear it…”

“If not you then who?” you gawk, waving an arm to the garden that wraps itself around you. In the beat of silence that follows, the wind rustles through the flowers, and the sound of trickling water meets the melody of a birdsong. It’s so peaceful. It’s so… lonely. Another gust of wind, and though the walls sit thoroughly coated by shrubbery and plants outside, it’s far clearer to see the iron bars from within, a mere gust of wind doing enough to show the cage these flowers have been locked inside of. To show the cage that you...

“You’re the only other person here.”

“I didn’t… I thought you’d change your mind in letting me in here if you realized….”

Once more you tuck your face into your lap, and Muriel has to wonder what makes you so miserable every time he mentions it. “Why would I change my mind after remembering how many flowers I’ve given you?”

“I thought… I thought you’d think I’d stolen them.”

You scoff and roll your eyes. “I gave them to you. As a gift.”

“Would you give me them if you knew it was me returning?”

You straighten yourself, turning to him with wide eyes as if he’s said something absurd or unthinkable. He’s about to retract his statement, make an apology for whatever he’s done to offend, but you look away before he does, and though muffled, in the quiet peace of your garden, you’re loud enough for him to hear you.

“Yes.” A pause. You fiddle with a worn patch over the knees of your pants, coated in dirt, and evidence of being repaired repeatedly, it’s a well loved set of gardening clothes. Well worn. Well cared for. “If I knew it was you, I’d give you even more flowers too.”

You huff the words out as if frustrated, and Muriel can’t help but look away.

“Why?” he blurts out the question, immediately regretting it when he hears you tuck your face back into your legs. You had said it was embarrassing. He still fails to understand… how.

“You heard the story about my parents.” This time it’s not a question. With your face now tucked behind your knees and safely guarded by an arm, you wave a free hand in the air, as if expecting him to connect whatever dots remains.

As if it was as easy as that.

“You said that they did so to show how much they cared about each other.” You bury your face deeper into your lap. “But you don’t… You don’t know me.”

At this point you’ve thrown your arm over top of your head now too. Trying to fold yourself up into a little human ball. Was this what was embarrassing? That you had been showing affection to someone you’ve never met before? To someone you didn’t know? But you haven’t known each other this entire time. What made it different now?

The glows over your garden, dappling you in it’s golden warmth. There are structures in place, some tall trees intermixed with the bushes outside, but sunbeams still sneak their way to reach you, as if eager to light you up, to amend the gloom that he’s cast over you. One beam streaks across your arms, and as you peek up at him, your eye glows in the golden light, and like magic, you slowly unfold yourself, to sit normally by his side.

“I… You’re right. I’m sorry.”

That was… “You’re apologizing again.” He means to ask it as a question but it doesn’t come out like it should. Hearing it fill the silence, he wonders if that would have been worse.

“I…” again, your hands come up to cover your face, dragging over your eyes, until they’re cupped around your mouth. You’re hiding again. Embarrassed you had said, but he still can’t figure out—“Look, I’m sorry for flirting with you okay?”

Muriel chokes. You don’t seem to notice.

“You don’t have to take it as flirting at all okay? It’s just… You just looked really pretty and I just wanted to give you flowers because I thought you were nice and you helped me out so many times with all those things, you were really brave and tough and yet so kind, and, augh no, look I’m not… I know I don’t know you okay, I’m not expecting you to fall in love with me over some…silly flowers, it’s fine. I… I’m really sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable, I’m really sorry if this is just…weird. I… look my garden is pretty much all I have! People like flowers but I understand if those were maybe just not your thing, and I know maybe roses would’ve been more fitting, but those are just so hard to take care of sometimes and they’re such an overused gift, I mean I kinda thought someone like you would end up tired of receiving those gifts all the time but that’s because I was assuming that you were interested in relationships like that and—”

You keep talking. And talking, and talking and talking. Circling back to the same statements over and over and over again in new contexts as you somehow say so much and very little at the exact same time. It’s nice though. He likes listening to you speak, even if this seems to make you more stressed out than ever, but most importantly, it gives him a moment to try to collect his own thoughts, to try to get his breathing in check. And when both attempts fail, to try and find a way to fold himself up into something tiny and unseeable.

He waits for a while, hoping that you’d trail off somewhere eventually, that he would eventually be able to interject and direct the conversation away, or just…. Ask if you were… serious…. but every glance his way seems to make you more stressed, and you burst out in another round of apologies and reassurances, and on top of it all another round of compliments, many of which keenly focused on…prettiness.

Particularly him… and… being… pretty.

He doesn’t mean to grab your wrist. Poke you maybe, but he doesn’t mean to grab.

It’s just… hard to tell when he’s trying to hide his warming face behind a hand.

There’s a long stretch of silence.

And of course, you try to amend whatever mistake you think that you’ve made. “I’m so sorry I didn’t—” he has to interrupt you this time.

“No… no… It’s…”

You’re really smart. Very, incredibly clever. Burying his face in his lap sounds more and more appealing by the minute, but as much as he wants to he can’t exactly make himself look as small as you managed beside him. Besides, he just… really wants to know.

“I… you think…. I’m….” He can’t. He just can’t. His mouth opens to try, but his throat falls dry each time. It’s a struggle to get the idea of it into his mind without growing furnace-hot at the thought alone. He is a rival to the sun, by mere heat alone.

Somehow, miraculously, you understand… or at least somewhat. “You’re kind, you’re brave… you’re pretty….” You have to look away as well, lips falling victim to the press of your teeth. “You’re pretty as flowers, really.”

Muriel could explode.

You take his embarrassment as distress, faltering and wincing as you try to amend what had never been damaged. If he could, he’d press a hand to your face to shut you up. But that would mean having to remove a hand from hiding his own face away.

“Sorry! Is that….? Is that insulting? I didn’t mean for it to be insulting like that or anything It’s just you know as a gardener and all constantly working with flowers and everything and—”

“No!” he wants to berate himself for yelling. To feel ashamed for raising his voice but the sound of it is so strangled and sounds more like a helpless yelp than anything, only really serving to make him feel more embarrassed.

It’s Embarrassing…

Have you been feeling this way the whole time?

“It’s just that…” many words want to spring their way out of his mouth all at once, and considering his tongue has yet to master the skill of saying two separate words at the same time, Muriel is just left to struggle. “I’ve never…. No one’s ever… It’s not bad it’s just….” He can’t speak. He’s as effective as if he were mute, eyes practically spinning in his skull, as he tries to look anywhere but you.

Still he manages a glance your way, and it gives him pause to find you staring intently at the ground, a little smile stuck upon your lips.

“Oh.”

You try to hide it behind your hand. And Muriel’s terrified to find his first instinct is to grab your wrist and keep you from hiding away, like some sort of greedy hypocrite. To deprive you of the chance to hide when all he would ever do—all he was ever going to do, would be the exact same thing. It’s greed isn’t it? First for your flowers, and your mild kindness towards him and now—! Now!!

What was he going to do now?!

“Do you want a flower?”

You blurt the words out, slamming your hand over your lips to hide away promptly after. You’re standing now, unable to tuck yourself back into your knees, but your hands are still a serviceable shield. It’s nothing to block the words that begin to pour from your lips, but maybe you aren’t trying to stop that. Maybe it’s just your expression. He wonders at what you look like so flustered….

How greedy.

“I mean It’s just—I don’t know if you want something other than a tulip—I’ve given you so many tulips—I haven’t even asked you about your favourite flower! You know! So I just thought! Just— Any flower you want!! Just one!!”

You scurry off somewhere, possibly off to tend to your flowers for something, trying to busy your hands, or just to get away from him. He understands both sentiments very well as his hands tangle themselves together twisting and pulling as he wearily gets up and looks around your pocket of paradise once more.

He doesn’t really want to take any of your flowers. At least… not pluck them straight off of the ground.

The tulip beds overflow with flowers, and like a moth about to be burnt by the flame he wanders towards it, unable to bite back his urges when he plucks a flower from it’s place.

It’s not something he wants it’s just…

It’s stupid….. But……

You return with an armful of various flowers, small simple little things, that fill your arms and get tangled in your clothes, some even worming your way to sit around your shoulders like little faeries peering over at him.

And you offer all that hasn’t attached itself to you, to him.

You don’t even speak, you just shove it all into his arms, like some last ditch effort for… something. As if this was a last ditch effort at all.

The flowers just barely all fit into the crook of his arm, and he’s grateful for once, for being so large. That he can hold so much in one arm alone, as it leaves his other arm free to offer your tulip back to you.

It’s a sign of affection you said. He hopes you understand, because he really can’t stomach speaking right now.

Surely, surely you do… right?

Your eyes go wide as if it was not your own flower he had been offering to you, gingerly taking the little bloom by it’s stem into your own hands.

And when you glance up at him, looking so happy, so giddy and yet trying and failing to hold it all back, he finds that same warm sunshine you’ve offered him when you leaned out your window the first time you met.

It’s so bright, it almost burns. At least, it certainly makes his face burn. He can’t stare at you for long, turning away sharply as he fights the urge to take more than he’s due, to sweep the dirt from your face, pluck the flower from your hand and tuck it behind your ear…. Or…. Something…..

He has to go. He has to leave. His face can’t take much more of this overwhelming warmth.

“I have to—” he begins his retreat muttering as he goes, but you grab him, your hand clinging to the slim portion of his wrist, fingers slipping beneath the cuff, to sensitive skin beneath, as if scared that he might try to tear your hand from his skin.

“Wait you….” Your smile faltered, growing into something sad as you stared at him. “Will…. Will I remember you?”

And for all he wanted to escape, he turns back to you to slip your fingers free from the uncomfortable hold they have on his wrist, to instead take your hand in his own and give what he hopes is a reassuring squeeze. “Yes. You…. Yes. You’ll remember me. So long as you have that pouch I gave you…”

He can see it in your eyes, in the furrow of your brow and how you lean closer to him. You want to know why. What had happened to him, how it happened. You want to ask about the spell that he asked for himself.

But you don’t.

That soft smile glows his way instead, and you squeeze your own hand against his once more.

“Okay,” you say hand already falling slack. “I’ll see you in the market then.” You’re just barely holding on to his fingers now, still squeezing, still trying to let go. “You’ll visit, right?”

He wants to say yes, but you’ll remember him now, and he’d hate to leave you waiting for him.

“The market isn’t really….”

“Ah right." You laugh, though a little awkwardly. "How about here then? Do… do you think you can come back here sometime?”

He nods, not trusting his voice to speak for him. Your fingers are nearly gone from his hand, but you curl them up against his anyways, giving one final squeeze before your hand falls away.

He turns, and with the loud creak of the metal gate marking his departure, he sends one final glance to you, finding you grinning from ear to ear, waving at him as he goes. “Come back soon! I really want to get to know you!”

Tongue tied, and the need to escape burning furiously through his body, Muriel smiles and nods, before he slips through the gate and through the foliage that hides it, already planning the fastest way to get back home, and the fastest way to return to your garden the next day.

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When Muriel gets home his hands are a trembling mess. He misses many times, trying to slip the many flowers he’s received back into the little cup along with the others. Perhaps it’s a bad decision to take up a knife when his hands are trembling this much, but just as much as he shakes with the overwhelming wave of anxiety from talking with you, he trembles just as much with an itch to create.

It’s hard work, and long work, and it’s very far from done when the sun finally sinks down into the sky, but the shape is at least there, and tomorrow he’ll work on scooping out the insides of it to make a vase.

His thumb sweeps over the patterns clumsily carved into the wood but he smiles as he follows the grooves of his work.

A little heart sitting amidst a garden of clumsily carved flowers.

It’s fitting, in a way.

It seems to be where he’s left his own after all.

……

…It…also seems to be where he’s left his basket.

Ah, well, looks like he’ll have to go there tomorrow then, right?

#answering asks #Anonymous #x reader #reader insert #Muriel x reader #Muriel the arcana #Muriel #the arcana muriel #the arcana muriel x reader #the arcana #Muriel the mountain man #Muriel the hermit #muriel of the kokkhuri #muriel arcana #muriel the hermit

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teacasket · 10 months

Text

august

genre: angst au: high school au, summer love au warnings: swearing word count: 0.8k pairing: gn!reader x lee minho song: august by taylor swift mini series: cruel summer // august // betty // cardigan // the 1 a/n: the reader for this is not the same reader for betty or cardigan. this reader is minho’s summer friend.

SO MUCH FOR SUMMER LOVE AND SAYING “US”

This love has been living on borrowed time. You knew that the night you kissed Minho, his lips sticky with the bubblegum bubble you popped. It was a stupid decision, yet he kissed you back.

Kissed you until your lip gloss got lost among the splatter, until the remnants of his strawberry-flavored gum found their way into your mouth, until you both forget how quickly this has to end.

That didn’t seem to matter. Sand dune chats and bottled sunscreen burnished the days golden, pilfered wine and tangled bedsheets left the nights in a thick haze. Walks on the pier became a ritual, and you eagerly waited for him on the bench underneath the streetlight every evening. Whenever he draped his arm across your shoulders, you knew you had him. After many summers of pining, Minho is finally yours.

You throw his duffel bag into the trunk of his parents’ minivan. Suitcases pile on top of one another, and last-minute miscellaneous items have been shoved into tight corners. For the next nine months, his family’s beach house will sit empty and you’ll drive past it every day when you go to school. It’ll be your only connection to him in your hometown.

“You’ll call me, right?” you ask him. “Being busy with a school isn’t an excuse because I know you don’t do homework.”

“I finished all my summer reading. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You groan, eliciting a smile from him. “Call me, okay? I wanna hear all about your fancy high school and your city friends. You never tell me anything. C’mon. It’s not fair at this point.”

“Alright,” he laughs, putting his hands up in defense, “I will. I’ll see you next year.”

Barely audible over the breeze, you say, “I’ll miss you.”

“Here’s something to remember me by then.”

He tosses you a half-empty pack of his signature bubblegum, and you catch it with two hands. You could buy this at any surf shop, but you can’t help but hold it close to your heart. When you wave goodbye to him and his family, the gum burns in your palm, reminding you that he’s still with you. You won’t chew on any of the gum; you’ll leave it in your nightstand drawer, look at it every night, and wonder how why you didn’t kiss Minho sooner.

For two weeks, you wait for him to call you. He sends curt texts every once and while about being busy unpacking or getting ready for his classes, and you reply with updates about your own life. The ice cream parlor’s new seasonal flavors, the mind-numbing chapters you have to read for English, and the seagull you fended off are just a few of the stories you send.

However, you can’t wait forever. You’re so relieved when he picks up.

“Hey! How’ve you been? I missed you.”

Something rustles on his end, muffling his voice. “Hey. Uh, been better, I guess. First week of classes, so you know.”

“Oh, I forgot you start earlier than us. First week isn’t too bad, right? Just syllabi and introductions. So, any plans for a Friday night? If not,” you slyly say, “you can come visit me for the weekend. There’s hardly anyone in town, so we can try all those tourist trap restaurants you wanted to go to.”

“That sounds fun, but I can’t. I'm heading to a party right now, so I’ll call you back?”

You feel yourself wilting but put on a bright voice for him. “Yeah, sure! Tell me everything tomorrow. Have fun.”

He ends the call, and you sink into your mattress. It’s too early to go to bed, but part of you wants to sleep the time away. Instead, you sneak downstairs to the kitchen and pour yourself a cup of red wine. Something light, something to remind yourself of Minho. You scroll on your phone until your eyelids droop and then curl into bed. Your dreams are sweet, ocean waves and Minho kissing you relentlessly.

Even though Minho said he would call tomorrow, your phone vibrates, the name minho lighting up the room.

“Hi,” you whisper, trying to conceal your sleepiness. "How was the party?”

“I got back together with my ex—”

“What?” You didn’t know he had an ex. You never even knew he had dated someone before.

“—so this is it for us. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, but the party and—”

You hang up and stare at the ceiling, now fully awake. Tears well up in your eyes and glide down your cheeks when you blink. Your face grows hot. Are you sad? Embarrassed? Angry? You can’t tell, and that somehow makes everything worse. You loved him for ten years and only had him for June, July, and August.

Only for the summer.

‘CAUSE YOU WEREN’T MINE TO LOSE.

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honeybeezgobzzzzz · 22 days

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🔱 On the Beach Chapter Two

On The Beach: Orm has spent the last year staying with you, Arthur’s best friend. Part of his sentence is to learn about surface dweller culture from a surface dweller, and try to understand that not everyone above the waves is bad. With the year up, and Orm comfortable with a lifestyle that consisted of just you and him, how will he feel when his half brother shows up, and jealousy rears its ugly head? To put it simply, not very well..

Warnings: Language.

To Note: Orm Marius x NAMED!FEMReader, dividers by @firefly-graphics.

Word Count: ~4.7k

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A hand was lightly running up and down your back, stroking your skin and tracing the ridges of your spine as you snoozed. It totally felt like yet another lazy day of sleeping in, soft sheets beneath your body and a warm body wrapped around your side, keeping you at the perfect temperature. You were still locked in a dream that involved a talking cat and some quest to fulfill before ice cream mountain melted.

You guess you had been craving a lot of ice cream lately because all you could think about was Ben and Jerry’s Phish Food. That and the Bay Shack fried clams, something about fish and shellfish just sounded really good lately which was odd because you were never a huge seafood fan. Practically a sacrilege in a fishing village but that was just how you felt.

Maybe it was a side effect of spending so much time near Orm, he had finally rubbed off on you.

“Beloved, you need to get up,” Orm’s masculine yet dulcet voice reached your ears shortly before he was pressing his sinful lips against your bare shoulder, his hand slipping from underneath your tank top to brush your hair clear from his path. Groaning out softly as he pressed a trail of kisses across your shoulder and then up your neck, his lips made your skin prickle.

“Don’t wanna,” you moaned out, trying to edge away from his teasing and tickles while burying your face further into your pillow. “I’m too comfortable.”

“You promised you would meet Mrs. Johnston at nine to discuss the tagging station.” Orm reminded you, nuzzling his face further into your neck as his hand carved a path over your side and slipped to where your tank top was bunched up. His fingers caressed your stomach and became very distracting, practically making it nearly impossible to try to fall back asleep.

Groaning in exaggerated misery, you swatted at the teasing hand on your stomach before reaching over and throwing the covers off your legs. Pulling yourself free from Orm’s arms, you sat on the edge of the edge of the bed and ran your fingers through your hair, getting out the knots and snares.

Now slightly more awake, your stomach rolled and twisted just like it did every other day. Wonderful, you would have thought you’d be over this annoying stomach bug by now, it was hard enough to keep it from Orm. You loved him, but you swear he takes overprotective to the next level.

Dropping your hand from your hair, you leaned back to look at Orm who was still lounging on his side, although he now had his head propped up as he gazed at you. How could one person look so hot just lying there?

“What is it?” Orm asked, his eyebrow rising elegantly with his question. Letting out a small huff, you leaned back and ran your fingers down the side of his face.

“It’s unfair at how handsome you are,” you told him with a smile. “And I constantly wonder how I ended up yours.”

“Do I need to remind you?” Orm countered, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he turned his head and pressed his lips against your fingers. Your face heated up at the memory two months ago. Arguing after Orm got huffy about your friendship with Arthur, then making out in the sand, then Orm feasting like a king, and then…

“No, no, I don’t need to be reminded,” you answered in a strained voice, your face slowly turning red as his smirk grew wider. “I remember quite clearly thank you very much, and now that we’ve cleared that, I need to hop in the shower.”

Pulling your body from the bed, you raised your arms above your head and stretched, enjoying the feeling of stretching your arms and shoulders out. Lowering your arms, you let out a yawn as you headed for the bathroom, oblivious to the fact that you were giving Orm a full view of your cheeky underwear.

Since indicated night of which you will not be speaking of, Orm and you had been sharing your bed. As it turned out, he was a big cuddler and had no issues making that clear to you. You didn’t explicitly say you’re dating, but at this point, you were fairly sure you were more than just dating given the Atlantean culture and views on ‘dating’ in general.

Considering his upbringing, he wasn’t exactly a PDA type of man, but he did like to let others know you were taken, and that meant hand-holding, opening doors for you, maybe a little too much hovering when another man was around you, and the occasional death glare. But when it was just the two of you, he was a hands-on type of man. It was like he was rewarding himself for keeping his hands to himself. You weren’t going to complain, his arms wrapped around your body was literally the best thing you had ever felt.

Stripping out of your tank and underwear, you quickly hopped in the shower and started washing your hair. You were nearly finished rinsing the shampoo from your hair when a wave of nausea hit you. Putting a hand over your mouth, you leaned forwards and pressed your forehead into the cool tile of the shower, counting slowly to ten in your head.

You could not throw up. You would not throw up. You will not throw up.

The wave of nausea passed and you let out a deep breath, glad you didn’t have to scramble for the toilet and have Orm wondering why you were throwing up, and go all Ocean Master on you because it was entirely unacceptable that you were sick and not feeling well. Taking a deep breath, you finished your shower and wrapped yourself up in a towel.

Walking back into the bedroom, you saw Orm propped up against the headboard, book in hand. Smiling at the sight, you turned to the dresser and started riffling through its contents for an outfit to wear. Orm was developing an appreciation for Surface Dweller literature, so you often made trips to the local library to check out several books.

Deciding to go with a navy suit today, you grabbed your white set of lace underwear and bra. Your meetings with Mrs. Johnston about the tagging station up north required you to be dressed more formally, even if it was only going to be a fifteen-minute talk. Doing a quick dry of your body, you tossed the towel onto the bed and shimmied your underwear up your legs before hooking your bra on.

“Don’t forget that you are going fishing with Tom today,” you said as you took out your navy pencil skirt and pulled it up your hips. Orm, who had been quietly watching you get dressed, raised a blond eyebrow.

“You needn’t worry, Beloved, I have not forgotten.” Orm replied with a smile. “Mother is dropping by while we are out, I believe she wants to further bond with you.”

“If you want to call it that,” you huffed with a small laugh before grabbing a white blouse with button on the upper half and shoving your arms through the sleeves. “It’s just female time, nothing too extravagant, we both need to escape the testosterone somehow.”

Orm’s lips twitched but he remained silent as you quickly buttoned the top few buttons, leaving a few undone, and stuffing the ends of the shirt into your skirt. Today was a special kind of day, Orm was going out with Tom, who he had a mutual respect for now, while Atlanna and you would spend a day without men around. Tonight, you were planning on meeting up with Arthur and Mera to eat at a restaurant.

Now that things were calming down, Arthur and Orm were trying to make things work between them, and they both made sure to visit their mother every few months. You were looking forward to hearing more stories about Atlantis from Atlanna, and Orm was looking forward to getting out on the water.

It was a win-win scenario.

Grabbing your matching navy blazer, you folded it across your arm before dipping your feet into your plain black heels and walking over to where Orm lounged.

“I won’t be long, I think we still have leftover pancakes in the fridge if you’re interested in those for breakfast.” you told him with a smile before leaning over and kissing him. “I’ve got my cell on me, you need anything just give me a ring.”

“Only if you promise to be safe,” Orm countered, just like he always did when you left the house.

“I’m always careful,”

“We will agree to disagree on that statement then,” Orm huffed as you drew back. “Stubborn woman,”

“Mmh, your stubborn woman, may I remind you.” you grinned back as you shifted the blazer over your arm. That brought a smile to his lips. He always liked it when you reminded him that you were his, and his alone. With a smile on your lips, you headed out to take care of the one piece of business you had today.

Driving back from Perry, the town where the tagging station was located, you were glad to have a moment of peace in terms of your nausea. It was becoming clear that you weren’t going to be able to hide this from Orm much longer; he wasn’t an idiot. Your only option at this point was to talk to Atlanna and hopefully gain some motherly insight on what you should do, especially considering how protective Orm is.

She was used to dealing with stubborn, obstinate Atlantean men; if anyone could help you out, it was her. Turning into Amnesty Bay, you drove through the town as you wound your way back up to your house. Parking your car out front of your house, you pulled the keys from the ignition before sliding out of your seat.

Closing the car door, you made your way up the paved path to your front door; by now Tom and Orm would be out fishing, and Atlanna would be reading in your living room. Just as expected, Atlanna was sitting on your couch reading one of the Lord of the Rings books.

“Good morning,” you greeted with a big smile as you set your purse and keys down on a side table. Atlanna looked up from the book with a big smile.

“Eva, it is good to see you again! I have missed your company.” Letting out a small laugh, you saw down in your armchair.

“I think I’ve missed being around females in general,” you chuckled back before running a hand through your hair. “Atlanna… can I talk to you about something?”

“Of course, you can talk to me about anything… is everything alright with Orm?” Atlanna asked, her eyes scanning you. “You look fatigued, are you feeling unwell?”

“Kind of, I wanted to ask what is the best way to break it Orm that I’m not feeling well without him going all Ocean Master on me and refusing to let me leave the house until I’m feeling better,” you explained as you twisted your fingers together.

“Darling, Orm is going to be protective no matter how you break the news to him,” Atlanna told you, which made you let out a small groan. “You aren’t sick with something serious though, are you?”

You shrugged in response.

“You— I don’t really know what’s going on with me, yeah I’ve been dealing with some sort of stomach bug, but that’s not all that’s bothering me,” you admitted, chewing on your lip. “I mean does living with an Atlantean affect a surface dweller? Because I’ve been craving a lot of fish lately, and I used to hate it… and I’ve discovered I like swimming and can hold my breath a lot longer than I used to. It’s all so confusing, the water around here isn’t warm enough for someone like me to tolerate swimming around, I’d get hypothermia.”

Your fingers wrung together as you shook your head.

“I feel like I’m going crazy, and every day that goes by where I’m hiding it from Orm makes me feel like I’m betraying him.” Atlanna reached over and took one of your hands, unweaving your jumble of fingers.

“Deep breaths, Eva,” Atlanna said softly as she gently squeezed your hands. That’s when you realized you had worked yourself up in a matter of seconds. Nodding your head, you took a few slow breaths.

“Sorry, I just— I really want Orm to know that he can depend on me to always be honest with him and that I will never keep secrets from him, but I don’t want him worrying.”

“This isn’t anything to worry about, Eva,” Atlanna reassured you gently; your eyebrow rose up.

“You know what this is? Is it Atlantean related? Is it temporary?” you questioned in rapid succession. She chuckled at you before brushing your hair behind your ear.

“Oh your condition isn’t anything to worry about, Eva, quite the opposite, and it would explain why you are craving fish, and are adapting to the water,” she said with a warm smile.

“What is it then?” you questioned, your eyes searching hers. “Did I get some weird Atlantean cooties from Orm or something?”

“If you want to call a child cooties, then yes,” Atlanna replied with a light chuckle.

“Wait what?” you questioned, your brain thinking you had misheard her. Her smile grew and she took your hand with both of hers.

“You are pregnant, Eva, not sick, it isn’t anything to worry about.” That one word echoed in your mind, and a second later your face turning bright read. It was official, Atlanna knew you had slept with her son.

“I— but— how—“ you were floundering for words while your cheeks burned with heat and the Atlantean queen chuckled, patting the back of your hand.

“We are compatible, Arthur is proof of that.”

“I know but are you sure? How is it that I am gaining Atlantean abilities? I— I am one hundred percent surface dweller.”

“But the child you carry is not, and you two are connected.” You were shaking your head, your face still burning that brilliant shade and indicating your mortification.

“But we only— Atlanna I can’t be, I— Orm and I are just— oh hell Orm, what is he going to think? Wait, I might not be and maybe this is just some side effect?” You were blurting out every excuse your brain could think of while Atlanna let you deny it to your heart's content. “It was only one time, only one time…”

“There is one way to make sure,” Atlanna reminded you. “That is if you wish.”

You let out a stressed breath, trying to control your emotions and slight shaking. Nausea, vomiting, fatigue, cravings, mood swings, it all made sense, but the logical side of you needed hard proof.

“I guess that means I’ll be running up to the drug store,” you whispered out, your shoulders sinking in defeat.

“Would you like me to go with you?” Atlanna offered; you shook your head.

“No, I’ll be quick,” you told her before getting up. Retrieving your purse and car keys, you headed back out to pick up some pregnancy tests. Your hand was shaking when you tried inserting the key into the ignition, and it took a few tries before you fully got it in and started the car.

The entire drive to the nearest drug store you could feel your heart racing in your chest as the fight or flight mode kicked in. Pregnant. It just wasn’t something you had ever considered, especially considering Orm and you were from two different worlds. Yes, you loved him very much, and he acted like he loved you back, you were sure he loved you back. But throw a baby into that mix and you were in unknown waters.

Five minutes later you were in line to buy three pregnancy tests, maybe one too many, but you had to make sure. If one of them said yes, then you were. Paying for the tests, you scurried back out to your car and headed back to your house, feeling like you were sneaking around Amnesty Bay.

Entering your house, Atlanna and you looked over the three tests, reaching the directions of each of them. It seemed simple enough, pee on the sticks and then wait. With the three sticks clutched in your trembling fingers, you entered your half bath and followed the instructions. When you were done, you headed for the living room, setting them down on the coffee table before taking a seat and staring out the sliding glass doors.

You were afraid of what they would reveal.

Five minutes later you still refused to look at the tests, your hands forming little fists and resting on your knees as you stared vacantly out at the distant surf.

“Would you like me to check them for you?” Atlanna asked; your eyes which were prickling with tears turned her way.

“I don’t think I can stomach looking at them,” you told her quietly. A few moments went by.

“They are all positive,” you closed your eyes and felt a few tears run down your cheeks before you were dropping your head into your hands.

“Oh God, he’s not going to want it and he’s going to be so mad at me,” you moaned, digging your fingernails into your scalp. “What am I going to say to him?”

“Eva, dear,” Atlanna spoke, taking your hands from your hair. You lifted your head to look into her eyes. “Orm will not be mad, trust me, my son loves you very much, and if anything he will be elated by this news.”

“How do you know that?” She smiled down at you, brushing at your hair.

“Atlantean men do not lay with a woman unless they intend to spend the rest of their lives together.” She explained with a small chuckle. “My son is very much smitten with you Eva, you have nothing to worry about.”

“I still feel like my stomach is going to turn inside out,” you whispered, Atlanna only smiled before pulling you in for a hug.

It was later that night that the four of you, joined by Arthur and Mera, ate at one of the nicer restaurants in Amnesty Bay. Arthur had stared at you in surprise when you had ordered a very seafood-centric plate. You had given him a look and mumbled about Orm rubbing off on you.

From there you steered clear of the wine, and anything that you had learned pregnant women should avoid in the time you had before Tom and Orm had gotten back. Luckily, the conversation turned pleasant and you could relax, just enjoying sitting next to Orm partially in your own little world.

Unfortunately, when it came time for dessert, you had to forgo your favorite triple chocolate cake slice that you pretty much always go when you ate at this restaurant. Both Orm and Arthur had given you weird looks when you had refused dessert.

“Are you sure Eva?” Orm questioned, looking down at you with an inquisitive eyebrow raised. You gave him a smile and nodded.

“I’m full, no need to fill up on cake I don’t need,” you nervously laughed, waving a hand in the air. Orm wasn’t convinced, neither was Arthur, but they didn’t push it. “Enough about me, tell me how Atlantis is doing…”

That got Mera started on some new construction and laws that were taking place, which thankfully took the conversation and attention off you. Slumping back in your seat with a soft sigh, you rested your elbow on the table and dropped your cheek into your hand. Beneath the table, you felt a large warm hand take your free one you had resting on your thigh.

Your fingers curled around Orm’s larger ones as you kept your gaze on Mera talking animatedly about the project she was helping to manage. His thumb was gently stroking the palm of your hand, easing some of the jitters running through your body.

Well, so much for trying to go under the radar; Orm officially knew something was up with you but thank heavens the man wasn’t inclined to ask what it was while you were at dinner. You would have been mortified. Eventually, the meal finished up and the six of you were heading back to your house.

While Tom and Atlanna talked with Orm, Arthur, and Mera in your living room, you got a pot of coffee going. The smell of the coffee was absolutely divine, and yet torturous, caffeine was a no-go, and that meant no coffee for you, which was going to suck majorly. Muttering under your breath about the unfairness of it all, you grabbed a tray and pulled down five coffee cups. The coffee was dribbling away when Atlanna came walking into the kitchen.

“Here, let me take it,” Atlanna said before taking the tray from you. “I’m sure they are already suspicious enough as it is…”

“When do I tell him?” you questioned anxiously, wringing your fingers together before glancing at the kitchen drawer that held the positive tests.

“When you are ready, Eva, if you want to wait until everyone has left and it’s just you two, that is fine. You needn’t stress over it.”

“I—“ you stumbled out that one word before running a hand through your hair and fretting further. “Atlanna, he knows I’m hiding something from him, he knows. We’ve spent enough time around each other to pick up on those types of cues.”

“My son won’t just question you outright in front of the others, Eva, he won’t subject that to you.” Fidgeting where you stood you looked at the kitchen drawer once more. “Eva,” Your eyes flickered back to Atlanna. “No one is going to pressure you into telling, take your time.”

With that, she glided back towards the living room, coffee tray in hand. Biting down on your lips, you skittered over to the kitchen drawer and pulled it open. It was basically a drawer that held random bits and bobs, a few miscellaneous keys, nail clippers, a tape measure, a couple pens, and the positive pregnancy tests.

Just rip it off like a bandaid, Eva, there is plenty of time to wallow in self-misery later at his response.

Picking up the pregnancy tests, you stuffed them into your blazer pocket before heading after Atlanna. Entering the living room, you saw Tom fixing himself and Atlanna their coffee, Arthur drinking his straight black as usual, while trying to convince Mera to try the hot beverage, and Orm standing aloof, scowling at the tray with one remaining cup.

“Do you not want coffee?” you questioned him as you sidled up to him, pressing your sweaty palms into your skirt. “I can get you tea instead if that’s what you want…”

Orm turned his sharp blue eyes to you, and his scowl lightened up. He slipped an arm around your waist and pulled your body against his while looking deep into your eyes.

“Are you feeling unwell tonight?” He questioned vaguely. “You didn’t fix yourself a drink, and you’ve never refused to order your favorite cake…”

His voice was soft as were his questions and for only your ears to pick up on. Letting out a deep sigh, you slumped into his side and rested your head on his shoulder. How could he be so perfectly in tune with you?

“Hey Eva, you feeling okay?” Arthur spoke up, and turning your head to look at him, you saw that he was staring at you with a frown. “You haven’t been acting like yourself at all today; you never skip the wine and cake at The Oyster, and I have never seen you not fix yourself a mug of coffee.”

Your eye twitched in irritation at him for blatantly pointing it out. Orm might be a perfect gentleman, picking up on social cues, but Arthur… not so much. Tom, who probably figured your situation out the moment you refused the wine, sighed and shook his head at his son.

“Perfectly fine thank you very much, Arthur,” you responded crisply, giving him a look; he caught it, and in a couple of seconds, a light bulb went off in his head.

“Ohhhhh,” He dragged out, Mera elbowed him heavily in the side as you turned to look up at Orm.

“Can we talk?” You questioned him before nodding your head at the sliding glass doors. “Privately?”

“Of course, beloved,” Orm responded, his forehead crinkling slightly before he started leading you towards the indicated doors. The further you moved away from the cottage, the more it felt like your heart was going to beat right out of your chest. “Eva, you are practically shaking; whatever it is you are hiding from me, I promise you I won’t be mad.”

“It—“ You started, struggling to find the right words to say. “I don’t know how to tell you, and I’m afraid you will be mad.”

“Eva,” Orm said gently, turning to you and taking your cheeks in his hands. “There is nothing you could say that could make me mad at you, maybe hurt, but not mad.”

You could think of a few things that would make him so hurt he would be mad, but you weren’t going to bring that up. With a slightly shaking hand, you reached into your pocket and withdrew the two tests to bring them in front of you. Then ever so slowly, you turned your eyes down to look at them. Orm’s gaze followed until you were both looking at your trembling hand holding the tests.

Orm released your cheek with one hand and carefully steadied your shaking hand by taking your wrist. The plus sign and the word pregnant steadied and became readable.

“The answer to your question is,” you finally answered. “No, I have not been feeling well.”

The tests were pulled from your hands, and seconds later Orm was kneeling in the sand, his hands on your hips as he pressed his forehead against your still fairly normal stomach. Your hands hovered frozen near his head, not really knowing what to do.

“Orm, please say something.” You whispered, your anxiety at an all-time high.

“You being the mother of my child is the greatest gift you could have given me, Eva,” Orm replied softly, his fingers pulling your body further into his.

“Even if it’s a half breed?”

“It has your blood, Eva, that is more than enough for me.” Letting out a sigh of relief, you slipped your fingers into his hair. “Is this why you have been avoiding your favorite things?”

“Most of my favorite things are not good for a pregnant woman,” you explained while running your fingers through his soft hair. “That includes chocolate, wine, and coffee.”

“You had me worried, Eva,” Orm said giving you another squeeze. “I am relieved to know that you are not ill.”

“Tell that to the morning sickness,” you huffed underneath your breath before finding your feet leaving the sand as Orm stood up, his hands still on your waist. Wobbling around, you clutched at his neck as he started walking you back towards your cottage. “You say you’re the one lucky to have me, but sometimes I feel like I’m the lucky one.”

Orm looked into your eyes with a curve to his lips. You moved your left hand to hold his cheek, your fingers running along his skin.

“I don’t think I say it enough, but I love you,” you told him. “More than anything in the world.”

“I would repeat your words, but I’m afraid there might be something I will love more than you.” Orm returned quietly as he swung you up to cradle your body in his arms. You raised an eyebrow. “Our child, beloved, my love for our child might rival the love I have for you.”

“I think I’m okay with that.”

Date Published: 12/20/20

Last Edit: 4/28/24

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#orm marius #orm marius x reader #aquaman

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